Adagio
by kimbari
Summary: Cuddy thought her dream of having a baby was finished. She thought her dream of a strong, loving partner would never come true. She was wrong on both counts, as well as her assessment that Gregory House would have nothing to do with either. Post-"Joy"
1. Lisa

**Adagio  
by kimbari**

**Part 1: Lisa**

_It was a death sentence,_

Perimenopause.

_the death of her dream._

PERImenopause.

Lisa Cuddy paced. Paced and wound a rubber band between her outstretched fingers. She kept the rubber band precisely for this purpose.

PeriMENOpause.

"What does this mean in terms of my fertility? Game over?"

Cuddy had consulted her gynecologist when her body went haywire shortly after the adoption fell through. She'd thought that her sleeplessness and night sweats were due to stress, but then her periods went wonky -- absent one month, flooding the next, and she started to suffer from nausea... in the morning. What a prankster God was to visit her with _morning sickness!_ Lisa Cuddy, she of the built-in baby repellent! Very funny, God, ha-ha! Her gyne sent her for a hormone workup and set an appointment to deliver the verdict.

PerimenoPAUSE.

Cuddy asked her question hoping for a way around the verdict. She continued, "I still have regular periods..." She squirmed. "More or less."

"Lisa, you know what it means." Dr. Anna Goss had been Cuddy's gynecologist for as long as she'd been in Princeton, had known Cuddy since medical school. She'd suffered every set-back in Cuddy's quest to become a mother as though it were her own, despite the fact that she had two children as proof of her fertility. "Every day that passes lowers your chances of conceiving and raises your chances of a defective fetus if you do conceive." Anna cocked her head, setting her chandelier earrings dancing. "I thought you'd given up trying."

"This makes it pretty moot, doesn't it?" Cuddy bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears.

"I know how much you want a baby," Anna said gently. "There are other ways... You can try adopting again--"

"No!" Cuddy said. She shook her head vigorously. "No... I must've been crazy to think that any woman would give up her child..."

"Many women do, Lisa."

"I don't blame Becca," Cuddy said. "I really don't..." Unbidden, the memory of the soft, scant weight of Joy in her arms came back to her. She'd been so close.

The consultation had gone downhill from there, ending with her leaving just ahead of Anna's next patient clutching a fistful of damp tissues and the beginnings of a headache from crying so hard.

Cuddy couldn't remember anything about that appointment but the verdict as she wore a path, in the carpet behind her desk, rolling her rubber band.

_Perimenopause, Lisa. No baby for you!_

Her thoughts turned with the rubber band, turned and churned, over and over, until the rubber finally gave out and snapped, spanking her hand. "Screw this," she muttered, and tossed it into the trash. She grabbed her purse and her coat, told her assistant she was gone for the day and headed out the door.

Cuddy stood in front of the hospital, a small island with windblown hair in a sea of people coming and going, sick and well, and wondered what she thought she was doing. There was too much work for her to even think about playing hooky just because she had personal problems. If one of her employees came to her crying the blues, she would tell them to suck it up and keep going. _No, you wouldn't. You would sympathize, tell them to take the rest of the day off, do something to take their mind off their troubles._ And I should be just as kind to myself, Cuddy thought. I should do what _I_ want to do.

Right this minute she wanted a drink. What did it matter if she tried to drown her sorrows and got falling-down drunk? She wasn't pregnant, and she never would be. That dream was done. What was the point in taking such exquisite care of a body that wouldn't do the one thing she wanted it to do?

Cuddy shouldered her purse and headed down the street.

* * *

House finished with his last Clinic patient, signed out and cripped in the direction of Cuddy's office to indulge in one of his favorite past-times: Harass the Boss. He was aware that he sought her out as much as he avoided her these days, actually tending more toward the former since that evening after... His thoughts went skittering away from "after." "After" had been game-changing. He knew it and he knew she knew it, but everybody had been playing it close to the vest.

Cuddy seemed preoccupied; House figured she was still mourning the loss of Joy (and a more definitive sign of Cuddy's unreasonable optimism did not exist than the name she had given the baby who'd been taken from her so soon after being given). He'd heard with a pang of jealousy rumors of more than one screaming match she'd had with this doctor or that. Before this, _he'd_ been the only one who could drive Cuddy crazy enough to raise her voice.

He paused at the glass outer doors. She was not at her desk. He pushed into the anteroom. "Where's Cuddy?" he asked her assistant. He watched with satisfaction as the young woman's eyes widened in fear; he loved scaring underlings. "Um, ah, she said she's gone for the day," the girl stammered, then flinched away from the x-ray of his gaze.

House briefly considered harassing the girl in Cuddy's stead, but decided against it. Cuddy was AWOL, and that meant something was amiss.

"Did she get a phone call? Did she say where she was going?" he asked.

"She didn't say."

House waited for a few seconds then prompted, "And the phone call?"

The girl sat up straight and attempted to look him in the eye. "I don't think I can divulge that, Doctor House," she quavered bravely.

House frowned ferociously, just for effect, then ducked out of the doorway and hobbled off.

He found Cuddy in the first place he looked.

* * *

"Well, fancy meeting you here," House said, leaning into the space between Cuddy and the next bar stool. The bar was quiet this time of the day, the TV droned some talk show that nobody was paying attention to. The old-fashioned glass in front of her had Cuddy's undivided attention. She spared House a glance, unsurprised to see him, before she returned to her meditation on ethanol and ice.

After a long moment, Cuddy looked at her watch. "You're supposed to be working," she remarked.

"Well, my boss wasn't around, so I thought I'd skip out early." He hitched himself onto the vacant stool. She gave him a dirty look, finished her drink and signaled for another.

"I'll have what she's having," he told the bartender.

"House, if I wanted to drink with you I would have invited you," Cuddy objected listlessly.

"See how much trouble I've saved you..." The bartender returned with two glasses and set them down. House quickly knocked his back as Cuddy watched. "What I want to know is, why are you getting shitfaced at three p.m. on a Wednesday?"

"I can have a drink if I want to," Cuddy returned and knocked back her own.

"Sure you can." House set his glass down and pushed it back and forth between his hands. He was silent for a long time. "What's wrong, Cuddy?" His voice was compassionate. She looked at him suspiciously.

"None of your business," she mumbled, returning her stare to her empty glass.

"Let me guess," House began.

"Can I stop you?" Cuddy said.

"You had a gynecologist appointment..."

Cuddy stared at him. "I locked you out of my calendar..."

"Cameron got me back in. I need to know where you are at all times," House told her.

"I'm gonna have a long talk with Cameron," Cuddy grumbled.

"Back to the subject," he continued, "only bad news would send you to a bar this time of day. Either your one-night stand didn't kindle or there's carcinoma in situ--"

"Fuck you!" Cuddy spat. She grabbed her glass and quit the bar for a table at the far end of the tavern. House toyed with his own glass for a few seconds, then got up, hobbled to her table and sat down.

"It wasn't good news," he said, pitching his voice so only she could hear.

"What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" she hissed. "Butt the hell out!"

Cuddy flushed suddenly, a shade of red that made House's eyes widen in surprise. The color receded as quickly as it appeared, to be replaced by large beads of sweat across her face, neck and the skin above her neckline. She took a hasty sip of the melted ice in her glass and tried to pretend nothing had happened, despite the droplets sliding off her face and onto the table.

House watched this performance impassively. "Hot flash," he said conversationally. Cuddy threw him a murderous glare and patted her face with the damp bar napkin. "Alcohol just makes them worse..."

"So you're the expert on this, too?" she returned. The light suddenly dawned on him.

"Bender plus hot flash equals _bad_ news for Cuddy from the gynecologist."

"House, just drop it, would you," Cuddy pleaded wearily. "Please?"

House settled back, watching her while she looked at the table. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not unless you happen to have a brand spanking new pair of ovaries on you," she said. The pain in her eyes tugged at him.

"Are you in full-on menopause?" he asked.

Cuddy shook her head. "Not quite," she said shortly. "Still bleeding."

"Then it's still possible..."

"No, House, it is _not_ possible. I couldn't have a baby _before_ my body decided it was too old to reproduce," Cuddy said. "What makes you think it'll happen now, with this diagnosis?"

"Ever hear of change-of-life babies? More middle-aged women have abortions than teenagers."

"Yeah, well, God hates me. The closest I'm ever going get to being a mother is in my dreams..." Her voice caught and she put her face in her hands, not caring what anyone, even House, thought. "I actually dream about it sometimes," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. "About being pregnant and giving birth..." Cuddy spread her hands on the table, stared at them as if they held a clue to her future. "I dreamed about Joy once..." She shook her head sadly. "I was so happy in that dream... and then I woke up..."

"Cuddy, the maudlin is killing me," House complained. "If you keep this up _I'm_ gonna get drunk." He planted his cane and got to his feet. "Come on."

Cuddy looked at him from under her eyebrows. "Come on where?"

"My place," he said. "I got a little sumpin' sumpin' that'll make you feel much better... for a while, anyway."

"Oh, really?" She stared at him archly.

House paused. "Not _that_." He rolled his eyes theatrically. "_God_, you have a dirty mind!"

"What then?" She still looked skeptical.

"You'll find out when we get there." He jerked his head toward the exit and she scooted off the bench and onto her feet.

"Let me pay the tab," she told him, rummaging through her purse.

"Well, I sure wasn't gonna pay it," House said, looking indignant.

Cuddy shook her head and paid the bartender.

* * *

Later found them sprawled on House's couch, shoes off, House's head in Cuddy's lap, passing a joint back and forth and mostly saying nothing.

"Feel better?" House asked.

"Better than what?" Cuddy murmured nasally. She'd just taken a hit and was hanging onto the smoke.

"Guess that answers my question," House drawled, pulling the smoldering cigarette from her fingers. He put it to his lips and made a great deal of noise as he sucked the smoke deep into his lungs, then expelled it slowly to mingle with the smoke Cuddy exhaled. She looked down at him.

"Your eyes are red."

House squinted up at her. "So are yours."

"Yeah, but... you look... demonic!" She giggled.

He grunted and twisted his head until his face was against the curve of her belly, then he burrowed.

She shrank back. "Cut it out," she said. He burrowed further and she squirmed. "Cut it out!" she repeated, a little more forcefully and he came up for air.

"I can smell you've had a rough day," he said, grinning. "Ow!" he cried as she slapped the top of his head. The sound of skin making sharp contact with skin brought Cuddy up short. She tilted her head to examine the top of his head, then started to laugh.

"I could have you arrested for assault," House complained.

Cuddy snorted that threat away. "You get away with a lot, being so tall..." She pushed the combed-over hair away, revealing the extent of his hair loss.

"Hey!" he protested, smoothing the hair back over the top of his head. "Careful! That's the solar panel for the love machine!"

Cuddy made a scoffing noise and shifted. "Sit up," she told him. "Your head is heavy."

"Nooo, I like it here." He burrowed but quickly resurfaced before she could assault him again. "You smell good."

"You just said I smelled bad."

"I meant I could tell you've been under a lot of stress."

"I'm always under a lot of stress."

"But you don't always smell so... strong. I like it."

"Strong?" Cuddy started to giggle again.

"Fuck it," House said, "I'm high." He sat up and Cuddy got to unsteady feet. "Whoa..." she murmured as the room swayed. Her sea-legs returned and she padded into the kitchen. "You got any food in here?"

"Somebody's got the munchies." House sucked the remaining life out of the roach, squashed it between thumb and forefinger and dropped it into the ash tray. Cuddy returned with a package of ham, most of a loaf of bread, a butter knife and a jar of mustard. She deposited the lot on the coffee table and set about assembling a sandwich. House eyed the ham. "You know that's trayf."

"What do you know about trayf, ya goy?" Cuddy said, never taking her attention from the construction of her sandwich. House licked his chops. "You gonna make me one of those?"

"Nope." Cuddy laid on the top slice of bread and took a gargantuan bite. "If evvy maa fuh izelf."

"What?" House said. "Speak English!"

Cuddy chewed and swallowed. "Make your own," she said. "Oooh! Forgot the beer." She put the sandwich down and hurried toward the kitchen again. "Touch my sandwich and you die!" she called over her shoulder, stopping House's hand just as he reached for it. He changed direction and began putting his own sandwich together. Cuddy returned with an open bottle of beer and sat back down.

"Where's mine?" House said.

"This was the only one," Cuddy mumbled, looking guilty around another bite of sandwich.

"Then, _that_ is _mine_."

Cuddy smiled. "I'll share it with you," she said sweetly. House silently held out his hand. Cuddy sighed and handed him the bottle. He took a swig and handed it back to her without comment. Touched and surprised, she took another pull.

They ran out of ham before they ran out of bread, and ran out of beer before either. Cuddy leaned back and stretched her legs beneath the coffee table, stifled a burp, then yawned. "Okay... I've had a few drinks, smoked some weed, had a beer, I'm still high, and now I'm sleepy..." She looked at House and grinned. "Good times."

"You're welcome," House said, popping a Vicodin. Cuddy let out a gusty sigh and said, "I should call a cab."

"You _could_ spend the night," House suggested to the ceiling. He cut his eyes at Cuddy, who was staring straight ahead, not saying anything. After five heartbeats, House followed up his offer with, "You can sleep on the couch."

Cuddy turned her head and stared at him. "Some host," she scoffed. "You're supposed to offer your _guest_ the bed."

House looked incredulous. "Hello? Bad leg, need bed?" he retorted. "Now, if my guest wanted to _share_ the bed..."

"Ah, the truth will out!" Cuddy said triumphantly. "_That's_ why you invited me here."

"Don't flatter yourself," House grumped. "I invited you over here to share my weed because you looked like you were about to stick your head in the oven," he said. "I wanted to spare myself and the rest of your lackeys the hard work of breaking in another Dean of Medicine." He paused and then said, "You're the one who suggested spending the night."

"I did not!" she said indignantly.

"You brought it up..."

"I'm calling a cab," Cuddy muttered, searching around for her purse.

"Don't," House said. "You can have the bed."

"So long as I share it with you?" Cuddy said, her expression cynical.

"No strings," House said. Cuddy stared at him. He tried to look sincere.

"Okay," she capitulated, "but only because I'm a danger to myself and others right now."

* * *

"I can't sleep in my suit," Cuddy told him as he followed her into his bedroom. "Would you loan me a t-shirt or something?"

House scowled. "Would you like a mint on your pillow and turn-down service, too?"

"Just give me the damned shirt," Cuddy said. She felt another hot flash coming and she desperately wanted to get out of her blouse. She started to unbutton, then stopped when she noticed House, frozen and staring. She pulled her blouse back together and stared at him until his eyes finally rose to meet hers.

"Shirt... right," he muttered and went digging in a dresser drawer. He pulled out a pajama top that was crisp with newness. "Here. I never wear these so you can sweat in it all you want."

"Thank you," Cuddy said with exaggerated politeness, clutching the top to her chest. She went into the bathroom and closed the door.

"You should've called a cab," he muttered, getting out of his jeans and into pajama bottoms. He cripped back into the living room, sat on the couch and turned on the TV. After a few minutes he heard the bathroom door open.

"Do you have a spare toothbrush?" Cuddy called.

"What's wrong with the one in the holder?" House called back.

There was a short pause. "That's disgusting!"

"Look in the medicine cabinet," House said. "... And stay out of my 'ludes."

Cuddy made a rude noise and closed the bathroom door. When she finished, he was deep into the movie he was watching and barely acknowledged her good-night.

She got into bed and curled up beneath the blanket. The pillow smelled vaguely of shampoo and laundry detergent and House. Cuddy burrowed her face into it, much as he'd burrowed his face into her belly and, similarly comforted, she fell asleep.

* * *

He tried to be quiet about it, but he managed to wake her up anyway when he climbed into bed.

"Does your leg hurt?" she murmured. Her semi-consciousness lent a sweetness to her voice. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," he murmured, sliding under the covers. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmmm..." Cuddy said. "You're not planning to molest me, are you?"

Maybe not so semi-conscious after all. House said, "I prefer my women awake when I molest them."

"So, I'm safer asleep?"

"Bingo."

She sighed and went silent.

Pain woke him before the alarm went off the next morning. For one fuzzy moment he couldn't figure out who the lush female in his bed was. Silky dark curls were everywhere, and there was a noise like a buzz-saw; genteel and ladylike, but still a buzz-saw. She looked like Cuddy. Same color hair, and damned if he didn't recognize that ass. Due to her penchant for thongs and the fact that the pajama top had ridden up around her waist, there was quite a bit of ass to recognize, barely covered by the blanket. House gently tugged until it slipped off the curve of her hip... lovely. He admired the view and forgot all about the pain.

Cuddy woke with a start, rolled over, then sat up and looked around, disoriented. Her gaze lit first on House's smug expression, then on the tented blanket. Her eyes widened and she turned away.

"Jesus, House!" She hissed as she pulled the top sheet up to her neck.

"Physiology, my dear Cuddy," he murmured. "I bet you can't guess what I'm thinking."

"Bet I can," she said. She couldn't keep her eyes from straying toward the intriguing evidence of his arousal. The sight was arousing _her_. Seeing an erection always had that effect on her, like Pavlov's dogs, even when the circumstances didn't warrant it. This circumstance wasn't one of them.

"Aren't you the least bit curious..." He trailed off and she looked up.

"Been there," she said dryly, meeting his eyes. "Did you."

"I remember," he said.

House's voice was deeper, sexier than she'd ever heard it, even that one time when they "did that." And she could not keep her eyes off that Mount Kilimanjaro his stiff cock was making of the covers. He noticed her looking. His dimples put in an appearance. His eyes were hot, like twin gas flames. Cuddy toasted in them.

"Okay..." she consented breathlessly, as he clasped her ankle and pulled her across the mattress toward him. The pajama top slid higher, exposing her breasts, and Cuddy couldn't fight the impulse to pull it back down. But House leaned over and pushed the top back up and bent his head to her, slowly taking her nipple into his mouth. He suckled, pulling soft moans from her that increased in volume with every tug of his lips, of his tongue circling, of his hand cupping, first one breast then the other. This accomplished multi-tasker even managed to get her thong off while he mauled her breasts, as well as free himself from his pajama pants.

The bedclothes slid to the floor. Cuddy's back arched in pleasure as his questing mouth left her breasts and traveled down the center of her torso. He stabbed her navel with his tongue and a sensation of electricity zinged through her pussy, making her gasp. House left off his tasting to position her perpendicular to his body as he lay on his side, her legs draped over his hip. She spread her thighs and he insinuated his leg between hers. Every muscle in her body went taut and she could hear his rough breathing, counterpoint to hers as he penetrated her, thrust once, again, and finished with a loud groan.

Cuddy froze in dismay as his penis shriveled inside her, losing substance until what had been a presence as large as her pleasure faded to something she couldn't feel. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears of frustration.

House rolled over onto his back, breaking their connection. He wouldn't look at her, and that told her everything she needed to know. Cuddy angled herself away from him, rolled out of bed and fled into the bathroom. She sat down to pee and put her face in her hands, eyes dry. Selfish bastard. If that was charging for the weed, she had some change coming... No, screw that, she wanted a damned refund!

When she finished, she washed and pulled her clothes on. She left his pajama top on the bathroom floor, located her damp panties and stuffed them into her purse.

Cuddy left the apartment without looking back. For all she knew, House was still lying there as she'd left him. For all she knew his heart had stopped and he was dead and putrefying as life went on all around him.

* * *

House didn't believe in God, but he thought he might be willing to give the Deity a shot if He would just keep him from running into Cuddy today.

So, who was the first person he laid eyes on when he cripped through the hospital doors ninety minutes late? Of course it was. But that was okay. Times like this was only _one_ of the reasons why he didn't believe.

Cuddy stood outside the clinic doors, talking to a nurse. Her eyes flicked over him and away: noted and dismissed. House nodded. If she saw the nod, she didn't return it. He supposed he was lucky she didn't lob a hand grenade at him. The elevator doors opened just as he reached them. Small favor. He staggered past the outflow of passengers and breathed a sigh of relief when the doors slid closed and the elevator surged upward.

How did he explain what happened this morning? _Dear Cuddy, I popped like a fifteen year old getting his first piece of ass because even the morning after a binge with your hair in your eyes, pillow creases on your face, and what was left of yesterday's eye makeup giving you a striking resemblance to a rabid raccoon, you are still the hottest creature ever upon whom the evolutionary process bestowed a pair of breasts._ House grimaced at the sound of it. She wouldn't consider that a compliment. She wouldn't even think it was funny. The elevator arrived at his floor and he lurched out and down the hall, into his office.

The war-room was empty. All of his fellows were off somewhere, either doing their job or shirking it. Right now it didn't matter to House which one it was. He sat down at his desk and powered up the computer out of habit. He needed some alone time to wrap his head around this morning's fiasco and what, if anything, he might do to redeem himself.

He climbed into bed with her because he didn't want to sleep on the couch. It was as simple as that. And while she hadn't rolled out the red carpet, she hadn't kicked him out, either. In fact, she'd known why he'd changed his mind about the bed. She even volunteered to leave. He'd been touched by her gesture, even if she'd only been semi-conscious when she made it. In coma veritas. But she'd been there in the morning... correction: she'd been there _snoring_ in the morning, which had amused him. And after the amusement, when she woke up? Pure lust blindsided him, it was as simple as that, too. They'd had sex once, one time, before and he'd never quite gotten over it. Cuddy knew that and, except for that one time in the hospital corridor, let him keep his pride.

She'd probably let what happened this morning happen because she still had a residual high from the weed. Or maybe she wanted to explore the ramifications of The Kiss (that incident always had initial caps when he thought of it). Or maybe it was a mercy fuck. Or maybe...

"Fuck it," House said out loud. He got up and limped into the war room. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn't going to spend the day mooning over Cuddy... But the sudden memory of his cock sliding into her washed over him, closing his eyes and setting off a physical alarm that made him glad he was alone.

Thirteen burst into the room carrying a patient file. He turned away a second too late. "Whoa!" she said, skidding to a halt. She grinned. "Thinking nasty thoughts?" she said, raising dark eyebrows as she studied him.

"I'm up here," House said gruffly, pointing to his face. He put the coffee cup down. "Tell me that file belongs to a patient with twelve undiagnosed symptoms." _Because I need to get my mind off nailing Cuddy..._

"Would you settle for three?" Thirteen asked. "And, um, should I come back later when you're... calmer?" She snickered and put her hand over her mouth.

"Just give me the damned file," he grumbled.

* * *

Cuddy sat in the cafeteria, munching a Cobb salad and wishing she didn't have so much to do. After last night (and this morning) she wanted nothing more than a vacation, from the hospital and from the people (House) in it. Again the memory of this morning came at her, threatening to engulf her in sensation. She batted it back. She was getting good at that; she'd been doing it since she'd left House's apartment.

She figured she'd already had her House sighting when he passed her in the hall this morning (late). She hadn't let her eyes linger on him, but her heart had fluttered like a bird inside her chest and she guessed the nurse saw the pulse in her neck because she'd asked what was wrong. Cuddy said a goose walked on her grave and the nurse laughed. She'd never heard the expression before. _Youngster,_ Cuddy thought sourly.

No, she couldn't possibly be lucky enough to see his scruffy, scowling face but once in the course of a day, now could she?

House materialized in front of her like a genie. Cuddy sighed.

"This seat taken?"

"Yes," Cuddy said.

"Great!" House sat down. "Listen," he said. "I want to apologize for this morning, you were in my bed and just so incredibly hot I couldn't help myself..."

"Can we not talk about this... ever?" Cuddy requested. "Especially here."

House pulled a face. "All the shit you give me about not opening up and when I do, you shoot me down." He fell silent.

When the silence began to get to her, she asked, "Was there something you wanted?"

"I want you," he said softly, staring into her eyes.

"Cuddy?"

Cuddy blinked. It was House, leaning on his cane, tray in one hand. For real, this time. Think of the devil and he shall appear. He nodded at the empty seat and she shrugged. He put the tray down and sat carefully, balancing himself with his cane. He started in on his lunch without a word.

"Was there something you wanted?" Cuddy asked.

House looked at her. "No."

"Oh," she said. Cuddy didn't know what was worse, him saying nothing or him refusing to shut up, like in her fantasy.

"Listen," Cuddy began, "about this morning..."

"Forget it," House said quickly.

"Deja vu," Cuddy murmured.

"Things got messier this time," House admitted. "I apologize for my lack of control... and condom."

"I'm in perimenopause," she reminded him. "I doubt there will be a problem. As for the former--"

"Do me a favor," House interrupted. "Don't go spreading this around. My reputation could suffer."

Cuddy glared at him. "Your reputation _needs_ to suffer... and so do you."

"It wasn't even supposed to happen," he protested.

"I didn't notice anything happening," Cuddy said sourly. "What are you, sixteen?"

"If I apologize, will you get off my case?"

"Like _you're_ gonna apologize," she scoffed, but then he surprised her by saying,

"I'm sorry."

She stared at him. He stared back, into her eyes and the two of them sat for a long moment, each trying to read the other's mind, or perhaps the other's heart. Then House said, low and insinuating, "I want to make it up to you."

Cuddy knew what _that_ meant. Keeping her voice low, she said, "Do you really think I'd sleep with you again after that performance... or rather, lack of same?"

House thumped his chest. "Ouw! You wound me, Cuddy!"

"You're not the only one who's wounded," she retorted.

"You left in such a hurry. I last a lot longer the second go." He waggled his eyebrows.

Cuddy had a strong recollection of his condition after the first "go." He hadn't looked like he could draw breath unaided, let alone get it up again and make her glad to be alive. "I didn't miss anything," she retorted.

"Again, with the barbs. Seriously, Cuddy, I have a reputation to maintain. How can I make it up to you?"

"Seven extra clinic hours," Cuddy said promptly.

House's face fell. "It always comes down to clinic duty with you, doesn't it?"

Cuddy got to her feet. The chair made a scraping noise as she pushed it back. "What else would it come down to, House?" Their eyes met again. This time there was no searching. Their guards were up and their masks back in place.

"Whatever a drink and a drag and a shoulder are worth?" He looked a question at her.

"You took that out in trade," she said, dryly. "Seven extra hours."

"No problem," House resumed his lunch.

Cuddy frowned. She leaned a hip against the table; House glanced at the hip, then up at her. "That was too easy," she said. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," he said, holding up two empty palms. There was mustard smeared on one of them. "Like you said, I owe you."

"Yes, you do," Cuddy said. She pushed away from the table (but not before House could eyeball her butt again), and walked away.

She knew he was watching her because he didn't know how not to.

* * *

Right on schedule after several months of it being all over the place, Cuddy got her period. Her sadness at yet more proof of her infertility was mitigated by the fact that at least House hadn't knocked her up, so she therefore wouldn't have to deal with him vis-a-vis parenthood. Then again, even having sex (such as it was) hadn't worked for her. Yes, God did indeed hate her.

Emotional baggage aside, the event was mostly a non-event except for the nausea, which continued, especially in the morning. Cuddy decided it sucked to be a woman no matter which way you sliced it. A couple of weeks passed and she started to outgrow her bras. House noticed (big surprise), and quizzed her about hormone replacement therapy. She didn't dignify any of it with a response, but she examined herself when she got home. Her breasts _had_ gotten fuller, the nipples larger, the aureoles darker. And she remembered her brief first pregnancy...

The nausea continued to bother her and when her period failed to make an appearance, she decided it was time to see Anna Goss again.


	2. Julian

**Part 2: Julian**

One and two... One and two... One and two... One and two...

The litany of his life. His bible, his hymn, the score of his soul.

One and two... One and two... One and two... One and two

Sweaty skin and cracking joints. Aching muscles and twanged tendons. Ragged breathing and the pervasive scent of funk. And thud thud thud of feet hitting wooden floors. But every so often, for just a moment, he could fly.

Flying was the best part, and even if that were all there was, it was worth every ache, every effort, every everything. But there was so much more and he loved it all with his whole heart.

One and two... One and two...

Morning class moved like a waltz in two-four time. The slow movement, the waving arms... Barre work with joints that were stiff no matter how much you warmed up pre-class.

First, the _plies..._ Knees cracking, popping. Sounded worse than it was. Arms up! _Ports de bras_ The moaning, the groaning... counterpoint to the piano.

"Julian..."

He checked himself in the mirror, perfected his stance. He could always be better, closer to perfect. He wished he were taller. Not much he could do about that...

"Jules!"

Second, _battements tendus..._ From first... to fourth _devant..._

"Hey, Scarborough are you deaf?" Okay, he couldn't ignore _that._

"Hello? Class?" Julian spoke without moving his lips, like a convict in a prison movie. _Demi-plié..._

"Are you going to see Liddy this evening?" Her again.

"Not on the train..." _tendu_ from fifth...

"I'll drive," Kevin whispered. Julian didn't respond. "Well?"

"Tomorrow." The slow waltz got faster, arms right... then sideways and bend through the legs... "I can squeeze her in tomorrow."

"That sounds nasty." Julian heard the lascivious smirk in Kevin's voice and rolled his eyes. He knew that Kevin had been trying to get with Liddy. He wondered if Kevin knew he knew. _Dégagé..._ starting from fifth, _retiré..._ Take the arms to fifth... and stretch....

After stretching, they pushed the barres aside and began the floor work. The _grand battements_ and allegro combinations left the dancers with no breath for talking. Kevin left him alone.

Julian ran on autopilot and thought about Liddy.

Lidya Wallace was a fellow dancer in the New York City Ballet. She was a friend, and she had been Julian's lover. He wanted marriage and kids. She didn't. They'd fought about that... loud and mean arguments, usually touched off by nothing at all. The aftermath was always a ringing in his ears and a strong desire to break some glassware. It could have been worse. At least they'd been professional enough not to let it interfere with their dancing...

The ballet master slipped a new combination in on the class and Julian had to leave off reminiscing to learn it. It never took him very long to memorize steps, and soon he was back on autopilot.

He and Liddy got tired of fighting. They broke up, but proximity and the comfort of familiarity kept landing them in the sack, despite their intentions. About a month ago they'd gotten drunk at a party and woke up entangled in the sheets... again. "This doesn't mean anything," Liddy had told him, breaking speed records getting dressed and out of the apartment he shared with three other dancers. "Yeah, I get--" Julian's reply was truncated by the door slam. Three weeks later she told him she was pregnant...

_Allégro_ time! Bodies started spinning and flying through the air as the dancers practiced _pirouettes_ and _grands jetés_. Staring into the mirror, Julian saw neither them, nor his own reflection as he slipped into the memory of the conversation that followed.

There was no question as to what came after that positive pregnancy test, no appeal, no reprieve. The baby, _his_ baby, was doomed. Liddy told him in no uncertain terms that she was having the pregnancy terminated. That he was required to pay half the cost of the operation was also foregone. Julian ponied up and held his peace. He knew there would be another woman, another baby one day, and they would be his. All his, as sure as the sun follows the moon.

He just wished _this_ one didn't hurt so much.

Liddy had nearly died of complications from the abortion, collapsing at her parent's home in Princeton Junction. Julian had made the trip and sat in the waiting room at Princeton General Hospital, worrying yet feeling like a dick because he couldn't shake the idea that Liddy somehow deserved this. It was a horrible way to feel and it shamed him, but there it was. They'd broken up and then slept together; she'd gotten pregnant and had an abortion. Julian still cared -- at least he'd been that much in love with her. But he didn't want to visit anymore, especially since he had to either impose on someone for a ride, or take the train to get there. They weren't together anymore. He'd done enough time at her side.

The class ended: Julian belatedly joined in the applause. Dancers grabbed discarded clothes and hurried off to rehearsals, or continued to practice the new combination, or got down on the floor to stretch as Julian did. He leaned forward, grasped his feet and pulled, slowly lowering his head until his face was against his knees. He savored the lovely sensation of pull through his hamstrings and back. Kevin was on the floor beside him, twisting his torso, a move he'd learned in a yoga class. "So you're driving?" Julian said. Once more for old time's sake. Liddy should be discharged soon, anyway.

Kevin spared him a glance. "You sure you want to?" he asked. "Your enthusiasm for the trip was underwhelming."

"We'll go tomorrow." _Far be it from me to get in the way of true love._ He turned his head to the other side. "You drive, I'll spot you the gas."

"That's gonna be a fair amount of spotting, to Princeton and back," Kevin warned. He spread his legs wide and leaned forward with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Don't act like you don't want to go," Julian chided, and Kevin had the grace to blush. Julian mirrored Kevin's position, stretching the muscles in the front of his body. "You know I'm good for the money," he said. "So just shut up and drive."

* * *

"You look great!"

That was Kevin. He was trying to keep his desire for Liddy on the down-low, out of respect for Julian's previous relationship with her, but he wasn't doing very well. What Kevin didn't realize was Julian really, truly didn't give a shit. Not anymore. It wasn't so much the baby (although that had hurt), it was how cavalier she'd been about their relationship. He had thought it was rare and precious; she obviously hadn't.

Liddy dimpled at them, holding Julian's eyes a little longer. _Force of habit,_ Julian thought ironically. "I'm feeling much better," she said. "I'm going to have to practice twenty-four seven to get back in the groove, though." She pouted. "I've been in this bed for four whole days."

"Not even stretches?" Julian asked. "I would think stretching would be okay."

"I was so afraid I'd shake something loose again, I didn't even try," Liddy said mournfully. "The doctor said I should have waited longer after the abortion to dance. I'm sure I'm not the first dancer to go through this. Why don't people _tell_ you these things?"

_Uh, because they're not particularly proud of the fact that they had stupid sex and had to get an abortion?_ Julian kept his mouth shut; they'd _both_ had stupid sex.

"Well, if you need any help getting back into your routine..." Kevin left it dangling and grinned. Julian rolled his eyes.

"That's sweet of you, Kev." Liddy blushed. "Also sweet of you to come all the way here to visit me. I can't wait to get back to New York, this place is truly a pit." She made a face at the room, as if even indoors Princeton offended her. "It was nice to have Mom looking after me, but she just _had_ to take me to the family doctor and, well, you know the rest."

"I'm sure they're giving you the best of care." Kevin reached out for her hand since Julian's back was to them. He'd turned to stare out the window during Liddy's narrative and could see Kevin and Liddy reflected in the glass.

Liddy was a delicate, blue-eyed blonde, the perfect ballerina-type. That she'd be the sole focus of any male within a mile of herself was understood, especially by Liddy. She listened to Kevin with one ear while staring in disapproval at Julian's back. For someone who'd been the source of the problem that had landed her here, Julian had been mighty inattentive during these visits. At least, compared to Kevin. "You're turning out, Jules," she announced. She didn't try to keep the snide out of her voice.

Julian looked down at his sneaker-clad feet. They were indeed pointing to opposite ends of the room. He changed his posture, then grinned over his shoulder at Liddy. "Better?" he asked.

"Jules is turning into a bunhead," Kevin said, chuckling.

"I don't think so!" Julian said indignantly. He pulled at his jeans and sweatshirt. "See? I have regular clothes." The three of them laughed. Each of them ordered their lives around the dance, but a dancer who thought of nothing else was the target of gentle ribbing.

Liddy and Kevin discussed the coming season while Julian went back to staring out the window. He thought it would be rude to suggest leaving, since a covert glance at his watch revealed only ten minutes had passed since they got there. He had a chance to get an hour with the company masseuse -- that much time was worth running out on a _good_ friend. The appointment setter said to call at 1:00 o'clock. It was getting close to that time.

The audience finally ended; Julian touched his cheek against Liddy's and kissed the air. "You're coming back to class when?" he said.

"Day after tomorrow," Liddy replied.

"Great, I will see you then." He noticed the longing gaze Kevin directed at Liddy and saw his chance to make that call. "I'll leave you two alone." Kevin and Liddy exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Julian smiled and left the room.

He pulled out his cell, then noticed the sign that blared TURN OFF YOUR CELL PHONES just before he began to dial. He'd have to go outside the building to talk.

He dialed the number as he walked through the automatic doors and paused just beyond them as they swished closed. The appointment setter answered the phone. Before he could say a word, the doors reopened, someone sped through and bumped his arm, hard. His phone flew out of his hand and shattered on the concrete walkway. "Shit!" he hollered and turned on the culprit, a woman with both hands to her face. She stared in horror over her fingers at the shattered phone. "What the hell!" Julian raved as she slowly dropped her hands.

"I am _so_ sorry, oh, my God..." For a moment her eyes were fixed on the damage she'd done, then she looked at him and his soul left his body. When it came back it was to a dry mouth and rapidly hammering heart. The woman bent gracefully to pick up the pieces and he said,

"No... no, let me do that." He got down on his knees next to her, gathering up the destroyed phone by touch because he couldn't stop looking at her.

"I'm so sorry," she said again, handing him the pieces she'd gathered. She turned to him, eyes wide. "I will buy you a new phone..." she nodded emphatically as she straightened on her very high heels. Her pink suit with a very low neckline fit her snugly (maybe a little too snugly, but Julian couldn't complain), generously displaying her soft curves. She had curly black hair and gray-blue eyes, and she was so beautiful Julian had trouble breathing. "...if you give me your address," he heard her say when the bells in his head finally stopped pealing.

"I live in New York," he said, sounding dopey, even to himself.

Fortunately, the woman seemed not to notice. She glanced at her watch and said "Shit!" under her breath. "Look, I've got to go, I'm really late for a meeting..." She pulled a business card out of her purse. "Give me a call at that number and we'll get you a new phone..." She offered the card and he took it, dazzled because she also gave him a smile. "Give me a call, okay?" she said again, then hurried off to the garage on her very high heels.

"Okay..." he wheezed. "Okay!" he said a little louder. She waved without looking back and Julian stood there, staring after her until she disappeared.

Kevin came through the doors and walked up to him. "You ready to roll, man..." He stared at the small mess of plastic and circuit board in Julian's hands. "Was that your phone?"

Julian blinked and looked at his friend. "The most beautiful woman in the world crashed into me and the phone just jumped out of my hand." He stared at the pile of parts. "It's hosed," he said sadly.

"Most beautiful woman in the world, huh?" Kevin was skeptical. "Where is she?"

"Went into the garage..." Julian murmured, coming back to earth. He had a broken phone, a business card, and a lost appointment for a massage. He read the card, then smiled. "Her name is Lisa. Lisa Cuddy, MD, and she asked me to call her. I have the digits!"

"You have her work number," Kevin pointed out. "But, ooh, a doctor! Maybe she'll be your patron, support you in the manner to which you'd like to become accustomed."

"Shut up," Julian said. "She offered to buy me another phone. I don't think I'll let her, though."

"Why not?" Kevin said, frowning. "She destroyed yours!"

"It was an accident."

"Damn, she must've been some kind of beautiful," Kevin said. "And, please, let her buy you a new phone. It's not like you're rich, especially once you pay me for gas."

Julian laughed at his friend. "Oh, please! You were the one who wanted to see Liddy. You would've crawled here on your belly if you had to." He forestalled Kevin's protests with, "Look man, you want her, go after her. You have my blessing." _And may you never have cause to remember that old saying about getting what you wish for._

"Oh, wow, man, that's so very noble of you," Kevin blustered, trying not to look embarrassed. "I'm sure Liddy will be happy to hear how willingly you're handing her over."

"Liddy can do what she wants," Julian said. He'd just met a woman who made Liddy look like a paper doll; her emotional stock had plummeted to zero. "I'm just saying _I_ won't cause any trouble."

Eager to change the subject, Kevin nodded at Julian's handful of plastic pieces. "Get your sim card out of that mess and let's jam before traffic heats up."

Julian did and they did.

* * *

_I recognize _that_ look!_ Cuddy's smile was pleased as she walked away from the cute guy with the cell phone. It was all she could do not to look back at him, certain that his eyes followed her until she disappeared. _Such an ego boost,_ she thought. _If I could bottle and sell that, the economy would come roaring back... _

And that was as far as the thought went before she was overwhelmed again by the knowledge that she was pregnant. (It didn't occur to her that the young man might've been struck by her _because_ she was aglow with this knowledge.) In three weeks she would reach the point where she lost the first baby; in seven and a half months she would reach the point where she lost the second. Nevertheless, Cuddy felt an optimism that should have been unreasonable. The third time was the charm, right? And a God that made wonderful things like chocolate and puppies would surely _not_ be that cruel to her.

"Board meeting, Lisa," Cuddy murmured as she got in and started the car. "Concentrate." _Yeah, right!_

It felt like a miracle.

Lisa Cuddy might be Dean of Medicine at PPTH, but as Anna Goss's patient at Princeton General, she made an appointment and had to sit in the waiting room, like all the other women. After a lengthy wait Anna herself came out and greeted her. She apologized for the delay and ushered her into her office.

After Cuddy recounted her symptoms, Anna grinned and said, "You're pregnant."

"No way!" Cuddy scoffed. "I got a period a month ago..."

"That 'period' you had, was it lighter than usual?" Anna asked.

"Yeah, it was," Cuddy said, frowning. "I assumed that was because of perimenopause."

"Implantation spotting." Anna dismissed it. "We'll do a blood test, which I'm pretty sure will be positive. Then we'll see what the sonogram shows us, but yes... You've got that look." The doctor smiled beatifically.

Cuddy groaned. "Please, don't tease me, Anna. You know I want a baby more than anything."

"Lisa, if I weren't certain I wouldn't suggest it at all."

The test was positive, leaving Cuddy a little dazed. Anna did the sonogram herself, and there it was beneath the wand and conduction gel on her skin, beneath her muscles and intestines, deep inside her body, a seven week old embryo nested in her uterus. Cuddy stared, stunned, at the movement that represented the tiny beating heart. "I can't lose you," she whispered, staring at the screen. "I won't."

"A woman who has nausea during pregnancy is less likely to miscarry," Anna said. "If I remember correctly, you didn't have any last time."

"No, I didn't," Cuddy agreed. "But I had morning sickness _before_ I got pregnant..." She trailed off as she suddenly remembered who was responsible for this amazing turn of events. "Oh, God..." she moaned, and covered her face with her hands.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

"House is the father." Cuddy winced.

Anna's frown dissolved into an expression of shock. "Gregory House, rat bastard of PPTH?"

Cuddy nodded.

Anna looked at her askance. "I thought you didn't like him."

"You don't have to like someone to have sex with them," Cuddy said grimly. "And he's... just... he's..." She gave up trying to explain. Wordlessly, Anna handed her a printout of the sonogram image. Her baby... _"It's a FETUS."_ House's insistence on calling a spade a spade came back to haunt her.

"Mommy's baby, Daddy's maybe," Anna said wryly. "He won't know unless you tell him."

"He can count."

"He can't keep tabs on you _all_ the time," Anna pointed out. "How does he know you didn't skip a board meeting for some afternoon delight?"

"I should be so lucky," Cuddy muttered.

"He doesn't strike me as someone who'd want children, anyway," Anna said.

"He's actually very good with kids," Cuddy said. "Better than he is with adults."

"That wouldn't take much." Anna had had more than one run-in with House. It hadn't left her with a desire for more.

And now Lisa Cuddy was driving back to work with a baby inside her. A baby who had been there when she woke up nauseated this morning, yet seemed to have only just now shown up for a photo-op during her appointment with Anna.

Cuddy attended the board meeting and managed to keep her mind on the proceedings... barely. She went straight home after, not stopping at her office as she usually did. She ate dinner _feed the baby,_ had a cup of tea _no caffeine_ and pondered what was going on inside her, and how her life would change.

"God has a sense of humor" was one of her father's favorite aphorisms, and this turn of events seemed to prove him right. Who _else_ but House? He irritated her, insulted her, defied her, undermined her, always cost her _something._ And she let him get away with it because...

Because he was right more often than any human had any business being, and because one night he _had_ made her very glad to be alive. And if he'd never forgotten that night, neither had she. It had been a high she'd tried to reach ever since, and she'd done so badly at even getting close, she'd given up. That was why that morning had been so devastating, yet the man had managed to get her pregnant. Which just goes to show you that it certainly didn't take finesse.

She couldn't tell him. She had no idea how he'd react, but she did know that however he responded to the news, she would go insane trying to deal with it. It would be easier for all concerned if he didn't know... which might not be all that simple because as she'd told Anna, the man could count. He knew the probability existed; he'd even apologized for it.

Cuddy put her mug into the sink and got ready for bed. She didn't have to tell anyone she was pregnant, at least not yet. She'd told her parents about the first time, only to lose the baby shortly afterwards. There was no reason to tell anyone until she got through her first trimester. She supposed the weight gain would show and she'd already gotten more bosomy. House missed very little, especially concerning her. She'd think that was really creepy if she didn't love him...

If she didn't love him.

"Oh, hell," Cuddy murmured, climbed into bed and let herself have a good, long cry.

* * *

Lisa Cuddy, M.D. had come to life inside Julian Scarborough, much as her baby had come to life inside her. He'd had rehearsal that evening after the long drive back to the city, so he'd had little time to dwell on their meeting, let alone use the number she'd given him. Nevertheless, he managed to direct a thought or two her way as he and the corps rehearsed the first ballet of the winter season.

He guessed she was maybe five years older than his 30 years, which bothered him not at all. Not only was she was gorgeous hot, her eyes were kind and he could tell by the way she talked that she was very smart. Julian loved women with brains as well as curves; both were a bit of a rarity in the corps... especially the curves. She looked Jewish. If she was, his mother would probably _plotz_ with joy and forget all about the age difference.

Which was good because he was going to marry Lisa Cuddy, M.D..

He knew this just as he'd known from his first ballet class that he would be a dancer when he grew up. Julian hadn't known from life decisions in kindergarten, but he knew what made him happy. Since then it had been the dance, and now it would be Lisa Cuddy, M.D., too. He wanted to sit at her feet and learn _everything_ about her, to hold her in his arms and... well, die, probably. He couldn't quite wrap his thought process around making love to her yet, but he knew that would happen, too. He was sounding the depths of his lack of knowledge about her. Was she married? He didn't know what he'd do if she were married. She didn't wear a ring, that was comforting. Did she have kids? Did she _want_ kids? Would she be willing to have his child--

"Julian!" The sound of his name spoken like a whip-crack snatched him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," Julian apologized, immediately knowing what had gotten ballet-master Eric's dance belt in a wad.

"You can think about getting you knob polished some other time," Eric snapped. His frown was ferocious and some of the girls cringed on Julian's behalf. "You're a half-step behind, and if I see this on performance night, you are going to rue the day you first saw "The Red Shoes," you got me?"

"I got you," a cowed Julian replied amid a smattering of chuckles. He caught sight of Kevin looking his way and shaking his head... and his shoulders, in laughter. When Eric turned his back, Julian flipped Kevin the bird and took his position once more.

He would think about Lisa Cuddy, M.D. later, when he was in bed. She and sleep would have a tug of war. He had no doubt sleep would win, but he was rooting for Lisa.

* * *

House was in Cuddy's office haranguing her about a procedure she'd refused to authorize when her phone rang. She checked the screen, _unknown caller_, and picked it up anyway, hopefully ending this argument for the time being.

"Doctor Cuddy." Cuddy heard a faint gasp in response, as if someone had caught their breath. Then a soft baritone replied, _Hi, Doctor Cuddy, this is Julian Scarborough... you ran into me yesterday and killed my phone?_

"Yes, of course..." _That cute guy!_ Cuddy grinned and House rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. Then he made throat-slashing gestures. "Do you mind if I put you on hold for a moment?" she said into the phone.

_No, not at all._

"Thanks, this won't take long." She pushed the hold button and glared up at House. "Out!" she commanded.

"We're not done," House said, looking mulish.

"Oh, yes we are. You are not doing that procedure and you're not going to bully me into authorizing it."

House jerked his chin toward the phone. "Who is that?"

"Not your business," Cuddy said briskly. "Please make like a tree and get out of my office."

"Must be a personal call." House looked intrigued.

"OUT!" Cuddy roared and, startled, House complied. He paused outside the multi-paned doors and watched Cuddy get her caller back, smile, blush, then relax against the back of her chair. She noticed House staring in and made shooing gestures at him. He left.

"I'm sorry about that," Cuddy said into the phone. "So, what can I do to make that broken phone right? Do you want to buy a new one and send me the bill, or you can tell me what kind and I can get it for you, whichever you prefer."

_I don't want to bother you..._

Cuddy didn't deny that it was a bother. "That's okay, I should've watched where I was going. It was my fault."

_How about I just buy a new phone and meet you for coffee?_

Cuddy looked puzzled. "To give me the receipt?"

_Sure, why not?_ Julian agreed too quickly, and her eyebrows flowed into a frown. _I know you're really busy being Dean of Medicine and all. I can come down to Princeton and meet you anywhere you'd like._

"That's an awful lot of trouble for you to go to," Cuddy said warily. "I mean, all the way from New York..."

_It's no trouble at all._

"No, really, I can mail you a check if you tell me how much the phone cost... and your address, of course." Cuddy remembered how the young man had looked at her. His offer of coffee was probably a ploy to get into her life.

_It's not a problem. Monday is the only day I have free, though, are you able to meet me then?_

The little guy wasn't taking no for an answer, Cuddy thought, amused. "Okay, let me check my calendar," she said. Hey, if he wanted to go to all that bother just for _this_ old pregnant broad, who was she to deny him? She clicked her calendar open on the computer. Wide open Monday until 2:00. "Can you meet me around eleven thirty?"

_I will do my best, Doctor..._

"Please, call me Lisa," Cuddy said. While the guy was young, he wasn't a teenager; she saw no reason to treat him like one. "You can meet me at the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. We'll brave the cafeteria for coffee. Will that work for you?"

_Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital... That sounds like a plan, I'll see you on Monday, then. I'll be wearing an NYCB sweatshirt._

"NYCB?" Cuddy was intrigued. "Do you like ballet?"

Julian chuckled. _I'm _in_ the ballet._

"Really?" Her voice went up an octave. "I don't know nearly as much about NYCB as I'd like. Are you a principal?"

Julian chuckled again. _Don't I wish! No, I'm just in the corps. Third from the left with the perfect arabesque._

Cuddy heard the self-deprecating humor in his voice and smiled in response. "Well, I look forward to meeting you again, Julian third-from-the-left-with-the-perfect-arabesque." Julian laughed out loud. It was a happy sound that made Cuddy's smile widen to a grin.

_I look forward to it, too... Lisa._ He said her given name almost shyly. _Bye._ He disconnected.

Cuddy hung up the phone and settled back into her chair. "Is this a date?" she wondered. The thought made her a little giddy and she giggled at the ridiculousness of it all. It had been so long since she'd been on a date she didn't think she'd recognize one if it introduced itself to her and displayed its birth certificate... and speaking of "birth." She looked down and gently laid her hand on her still flat belly. "How would you like to go on a date, little one?" she said, thinking she should feel sillier about talking to the baby (who at this stage didn't even have ears) than she actually did.

* * *

Cuddy was laughing.

From the other side of the cafeteria -- House would know that throaty chuckle anywhere. The laugh came again, and House frowned wondering a) what she was laughing at, and b) who was making her laugh. Because the woman didn't do a lot of laughing, at least, not at work... or around him.

House headed in the direction of the laughter, a tiny part of him questioning why he was going deeper into the cafeteria when he'd only come down for his Reuben, intending to take it back to his office and eat while he downloaded porn.

He saw her sitting at a table with a good-looking young man in a gray sweatshirt. The man was talking animatedly and smiling. House couldn't hear what he was saying; whatever it was amused Cuddy, because she laughed again. The sound tore at his heart. He'd never made her laugh like that, and before he was aware enough of the thought so quash it, he wished that he could.

But quash it he did, and he limped over to the table, to-go container of sandwich in one hand, to find out (and hopefully break up) anything that might be going on between Cuddy and this stranger.

Cuddy saw him coming, leaned across the table and whispered something to the man. He nodded in understanding and glanced House's way. She'd no doubt warned him that their lives were about to become uncomfortable.

"Cuddy!" House said jovially. "Fancy meeting you here..."

"House, you really need to get some new material," Cuddy said. She threw a glance at the young man, so brief House wasn't sure he'd seen it, before she turned her full attention on him. There was something in her eyes, some giddy secret... Something to do with gray sweatshirt? House decided to cut to the chase.

"Who's your friend?" he asked coldly, nodding.

Before Cuddy could say anything, the young man got to his feet and offered House his hand. "Julian Scarborough," he said. "Good to meet you." He was a head shorter than House, a physical fact that House would be sure to use against him.

House ignored the proffered hand and studied Julian for a moment. "I didn't know you had an opening on the cleanup crew, Cuddy."

Unfazed, Julian and put his rejected paw in his jeans pocket. "I'm not looking for a job, Doctor-err..." He trailed off, as the tall man hadn't given Cuddy a chance to introduce them. Julian had to tip his head back a bit to keep eye contact, but keep it he did. House glanced at Cuddy. She was watching gray sweatshirt with a slight smile and... could that be admiration in her eyes?

"Greg House," House said suddenly, put his sandwich on the table and offered his hand. Julian shook it and House then deliberately wiped his on his jeans. Julian shifted slightly on his feet but otherwise gave no evidence that he'd noticed House's insult.

"Doctor House is one of my best doctors," Cuddy said, her eyes now on House and not nearly as friendly as they had been a minute ago. "Also the rudest."

House ignored her, his full attention on Julian. "If you're not looking for work, you must be employed somewhere," he said.

"New York City Ballet," Julian said.

House pointed at him. "Usher, right?"

Julian folded his arms, looked down at his feet for a second, then back up at House. "I'm a dancer," he said calmly.

House's face lit up. "A dancer?" he said, his voice brimming with false enthusiasm. "You mean like with tutus and tights and toe-shoes?"

"Exactly," Julian agreed. "Except the men don't wear tutus... and usually not the pointe shoes, either."

House looked over at Cuddy. "Cuddy, you do know these guys are all gay," he said conversationally. "And as for sperm donors..."

"House," Cuddy said, her voice thick with warning.

"Oh!" He snapped his fingers. "That's right, perimenopause. You gave up on the old IVF, I forgot."

Julian seemed not to have heard. He turned to Cuddy and said, "I've really got to get going. Train to catch."

"Sure," Cuddy said, getting to her feet. "Come back with me to my office and I'll give you the check..."

"Ah-hah! So money _is_ changing hands," House interrupted gleefully.

"I broke his cell phone," Cuddy told him. "I'm paying to replace it."

"Sure you are," House said, and gave an exaggerated wink.

"A pleasure meeting you, Doctor House," Julian said. He didn't offer his hand again.

"I'm sure it was," House said dryly. He stood aside as Cuddy brushed past him. "Follow me," she said to Julian and the two of them left him standing there. House watched them go. Julian leaned close to Cuddy and said something, also funny, since she giggled. House's heart cramped again, not only at the sound, but at the way the two of them seemed to have known each other since forever. Except House was sure Cuddy had just met him.

So what was up with that?

* * *

"What a great guy!" Julian said, sotto voce and Cuddy laughed.

"I have to hand it to you," she said, "I've seen House turn people into gibbering idiots with a lot less than he dished out to you."

Julian waved it away. "He don't scare me... Hey, what happened to his leg?" He'd noticed House rubbing his right thigh when they were introduced, not to mention the cane. Since leg injuries would affect his ability to dance and possibly end his career, he was especially sensitive to them in other people.

Cuddy sighed. "Misdiagnosed infarct in his thigh caused muscle death. The dead muscle had to be surgically removed, hence the limp. He has chronic pain, which is one of the reasons he's such a shit-head."

Julian grunted. "He seems to know you very well."

"Yeah, well, we've been together for years," Cuddy said dryly. "I'm his boss and he's the kind of person who tries to amass all the information he can to use against his enemies."

"I don't think _you_ are the enemy he wants to get information on," Julian said. "He acted like a dog protecting his bone."

"Do I look like a bone?" Cuddy said indignantly.

Julian grinned. "Not in the least... and quit fishing for compliments."

Cuddy gasped in mock affront. "I was not..."

"Not that you don't deserve them," Julian said. They'd reached the door of her office. She held it open and waved him in.

"Good save," Cuddy said, going around to her desk drawer. She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. "I haven't given you the check, yet."

"Shutting up, now," Julian announced. Cuddy smiled, retrieved her checkbook and wrote the check. She walked back around her desk and handed it to Julian.

He took her hand, rather than the check, slid his thumb into the opening her thumb and forefinger made, and caressed her palm. It was the most erotic gesture she had ever experienced with her clothes on.

Julian plucked the check out of her fingers with his other hand and continued the caress as he shoved the check into his jeans pocket. "Now that I'm flush again, I'd like to take you out to a nice place on a real date," he said softly.

Cuddy looked into his eyes. They were green as summer leaves, and she saw there something every woman wants to see: Cuddy had stopped looking for it a long time ago. It stirred her, what was in his eyes. It reminded her of that extraordinary kiss from House, and made her realize that she would like to be... _needed_ to be... kissed a lot more often. Yet...

"Julian..." she began, shaking her head.

"No," Julian said, moving closer, his thumb caressing her palm, stroking, stroking... "No. You have no reason to turn me down, Lisa. So say yes."

Cuddy opened her lips to respond, a "no" on the tip of her tongue, and Julian again said, "Yes," as if he were teaching her how to say the word. "Say yes or I'll kiss you right in front of your assistant."

She glanced toward her assistant's desk. The girl looked away quickly, pretending she hadn't been watching the two of them as avidly as a soap opera. "Yes," Cuddy finally said, wondering how she managed to get backed into this corner.

"Thank you," Julian said. He released her hand and she clasped them behind her, in case he got any more ideas. He found a pen and a pad of paper on her desk and in a strong, square hand wrote his contact information, including the number of the cell phone she'd just reimbursed him for. He tore the paper off the pad and proffered it to her. "The season starts in a couple of weeks, so my only free days will be Mondays. I usually sleep on Monday, but you've given me a great reason not to."

Cuddy made a face. "Monday isn't a good day for me."

"I understand. A dancer's life is pretty circumscribed... what?" he asked as Cuddy grinned.

"That's a mighty big word for a dancer!" Cuddy said playfully. "Rumor has it you dancers aren't much on the letters."

Julian glanced around, then whispered, "The rumor's true. Don't tell them I told you." He leaned into her personal space and said, "I gotta impress you some kinda way."

"You're doing a great job," she said breathlessly. "What were you saying?"

"My schedule is busy," Julian said. "I have class every morning, rehearsal in the afternoon, one performance every evening except Monday and two on weekends. Dinner on weekends would have to be really late, like close to midnight late, and in New York."

Cuddy thought about how baby construction was causing her to crash and burn promptly at 9:00 p.m. these days, decided now was not the time to mention the baby (aside from the fact that it was too soon, both in the relationship and the gestational period), and said, "I think we can work something out. A weekend in New York sounds like the kind of fun I haven't had in years."

"Well, then, that's settled." Julian got a look on his face that said _I am going to kiss you_ and Cuddy edged out of his personal space, even though there was nothing she would have liked more.

"You're gonna miss your train," Cuddy reminded him, and was amused when he shook his head slightly as if to clear it, then checked his watch.

"Gotta go," he said regretfully, as they moved to the door. "I'll see you soon... Lisa."

"Bye, Julian," she said. She leaned against the door, admiring the view as he danced past the clinic and out the door.

Cuddy turned back just in time to see her assistant mouth the word "Wow!" as her eyes followed him. The girl started when she noticed Cuddy looking at her. "Don't you have work to do, Cissy?" Cuddy said.

"I sure do, Doctor Cuddy," Cissy said, frantically moving papers around on her desk. "I am swamped!"

"Mm-hmm..." Cuddy hummed sarcastically. She closed her door, went back to her desk.

She breathed a huge, happy sigh. The way he said her name was like a dozen roses. It had been a long time since... Cuddy noticed her assistant staring into her office again, and gave her an indignant face. Cissy quickly averted her eyes.

Pulling papers toward her so that she at least looked like she was working, Cuddy thought about Julian Scarborough.

He was a good ten years younger than she, a fact she was surprised House didn't immediately point out with a nasty MILF reference. And hooray for Julian for standing up to the cranky doctor. She supposed he was able to hold his own because he was a sanguine soul, comfortable in his own skin. He certainly made her comfortable in hers... not that she generally wasn't.

_Come off it, Lisa. Who wants into whose skin?_

Cuddy laughed quietly. Okay, the guy was hot. Better than hot, he was interested in her. He was unlike any man she'd ever been involved with. He had a sleekness, a tightly coiled strength to his body that showed, even through his clothes. The youth he exuded, no amount of money can buy. There was no way she could keep up with him, and she wasn't going to try. What she _would_ do, for once in her life, was go with it, to wherever it led, and to hell with House...

And where had House come from, anyway?

Cuddy pushed him aside. He wasn't going to spoil it with _this_ guy; for one thing she doubted he had the fortitude to follow her all the way to New York to bust up any of her trysts. Julian's schedule versus her own would be the biggest deterrent to any romance-disrupting plans House might cook up. Nevertheless, she expected House to give it his best shot.

If House wanted her, Cuddy wished to God he would say so, or at least _act_ like it. But no, nothing since the kiss (which had left absolutely no doubt in her mind that he _did_ want her) except a number of childish pranks, and then the unsatisfying act that had made her pregnant. And since _then_, barely any conversation at all.

She was done sacrificing herself on that altar. House should be acting the way Julian was: as if he wanted her, needed her, couldn't live without her. And this after knowing her for how many _minutes?_ House either couldn't or wouldn't, so that's that. The prize goes to Julian.

And Cuddy decided that she _was_ a prize.

Baby and all.

* * *

Cuddy and Julian's first real date was dinner at L'Auberge in Princeton. It had been filled with candlelight and tender glances and hand-feeding, at the end of which Cuddy dropped Julian off at the train station and Julian left a tender kiss on her cheek. Cuddy figured it was hormones that made her giggle in the car all the way home at how courtly that gesture was.

For their second date, Julian showed up in a limo. Cuddy was impressed. She also wondered how he could afford it; she knew enough about the ballet world to know that even as a regular employee of a major company, Julian didn't make limo-class money.

"How can you afford..."

"Shhh." Julian put his finger to his lips. "I broke my piggy bank," he said, kissed his fingertip and pressed it to her lips. She decided to leave it alone and be dazzled.

They ate at another swanky Princeton place. On the way home in the car, Julian raised the partition between them and the driver and turned on her his most engaging grin. Cuddy decided not to stand or ceremony. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him to her. When they arrived at her door, he took her in his arms for a long, slow kiss. He pulled her closer and Cuddy could feel how much he wanted her. "If I didn't have class in the morning..." Julian let the rest of it drift away into late night air as he held her almost too tight for breathing.

"Yeah," she breathed. "I get that." Cuddy tipped her head back and gazed at him through her lashes. "Next time?"

"Oh, you'd better believe it," Julian said fervently. He glanced at the limo, patiently purring at the curb, then heaved a huge sigh and released her. He waited until he heard her lock the door before he returned to the car.

Slumped against the door in classic 'fantastic date' pose, Cuddy listened to the limo pull off. "Boy, are _you_ gonna get it," she murmured, then chuckled. She wondered what House would think, then wondered why she was even thinking about House, let alone speculating about his opinion of her love life.

Cuddy planned their next date with exquisite care. This time she would go into the city. Julian made macho and protective noises over the phone, but Cuddy told him she was a big girl and waved away his protests. It had been ages since she'd been to Manhattan; she owed herself the diversion. She would stay in a hotel, do some shopping, catch a play... make a weekend of it, starting with meeting Julian after his Friday night performance. They would have dinner, just the two of them in her room, and let anything else that might come (Cuddy fervently hoped that would be herself) simply happen.

"That is such a great idea!" Julian said, forgetting about his initial objection. Cuddy could not stop herself from laughing at his enthusiasm.

"What?" he said, and she said, "I have never had any plan of mine received so enthusiastically. I don't know whether to be flattered or scared."

"Be both," Julian growled. She giggled and Julian reminded her of his schedule.

"I understand," Cuddy said. "You'll just have to pace yourself." The conversation then took an X-rated turn, and Cuddy was glad that she'd waited until lunchtime (and Cissy's absence) to make this call.

Cuddy did not tell him of her plan to watch his performance.

Julian was right about his lowly status in the corps; she had a great seat but was unable to pick him out until halfway through the ballet. But once she found him, she kept track of him. Cuddy was impressed by his athleticism and his technique, and felt a twinge of envy of the lovely dancers he held, handed and lifted. Occasionally, beneath his performer's mask, she was able to see an expression of almost childlike happiness. Julian Scarborough was exactly where he wanted to be, doing what he loved and knew best. It was a feeling Cuddy was familiar with, except she got it in a hospital, with... But no, she wasn't going to think about that (or him), not tonight.

Afterwards, Julian emerged from the stage door with damp hair, wearing jeans and a leather bomber jacket and a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was accompanied by his fellow dancers, who were in turn besieged by autograph seekers who apparently didn't care that these dancers weren't the famous ones. Julian added a smile and a good word to everyone who handed him a piece of paper to sign and Cuddy, standing on the fringes of the crowd, was struck by how effortless his kindness was. He continued to smile even when the fans lost interest in him and his cohort when the principal dancers emerged. That smile grew blinding when he spotted her. She had no choice but to respond in kind. He walked over to her, then picked her up and swung her around. His smile was only for her as he delicately touched her face with his fingertips as if she were fragile and precious, and she realized she had no reason to envy the female dancers he partnered. However he held them, whoever they were, Cuddy knew Julian's heart belonged to her.

With great pride, he introduced her to his fellow dancers as "Doctor Lisa Cuddy, from Princeton and yes, she does make me feel good." Cuddy blushed and assured the crowd she wasn't _that_ kind of doctor, and she had the stethoscope to prove it.

They all looked at her with interest as Julian introduced them each individually, saving Kevin and Liddy for last. Kevin gave Julian a thumbs-up when he thought Cuddy wasn't looking. She thought she'd love him forever for that. Liddy, on the other hand, simply stared dumbly, her handshake limp, her eyes round with indifference. Cuddy got a strong rival vibe from her, and wondered if she and Julian might need to have a conversation about Liddy.

In due course, Julian had to pry Cuddy away from the dancers, who had her enthralled her with their mostly embellished tales of the trials and tribulations of ballet dancers. He hustled her into a cab, and on their way to her hotel, he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, taking her breath away. "First? You need to feed _le danseur_," he told her. "I work hard for the money and I'm _hungry!_."

"I saw," Cuddy said. "You were wonderful."

Julian stared at her. "You watched the performance?"

"I did. You were great."

"You sure that was me you were looking at?"

"Well, it took me a while, " Cuddy admitted. "But I was able to pick you out of the crowd." They rode in silence for a while, then she asked, "Would you rather go to a restaurant? I really can't vouch for the hotel's food."

"No, it's fine. Room service is perfect," Julian said. "Eating and bed are my MO after a performance, the latter usually to sleep." He gazed at her tenderly, caressed her jawline with the backs of his fingers. "I don't think we'll be doing much sleeping tonight."

Cuddy blushed all over. "Is that a promise?"

He held up two fingers in the Boy's Scout salute. "Cross my heart."

Julian wolfed down most of a large room service pizza, plus a salad and a slice of chocolate cake. Cuddy returned from the bathroom and curled up in a chair on the other side of the room.

Appetite finally slaked, Julian wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin. "Why are you way over there?"

"If I get too close, you might eat me," Cuddy said primly.

"Oh, your turn is coming," He winked at her and Cuddy laughed. "Good to hear," she said.

Julian crossed the room to where Cuddy sat and stared down at her. He held out his hands and she took them. He pulled her to her feet, then into his arms; his hands wandered all over the soft, supple flesh beneath her sweater-dress, squeezing, caressing... She found his mouth with hers and kissed him, slow, sweet... incendiary. They broke for air.

"Did you go out in the cold like this?" Julian breathed into her ear. He'd worked her dress up to her waist and was greedily fondling her naked flesh.

"Of course not, my mother would be scandalized... I took 'em off after we got here."

"I see." Julian peeked over her shoulder at the view.

"Julian?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you need an engraved invitation?" Cuddy asked. She'd been ready when they got into the cab; he was taking way too long to get down to business.

Julian pulled back and looked at her. "Is there someplace you gotta be?"

"Actually..." Cuddy murmured, and that's when he backed her against the wall. His fingers wandered into places that made her sing... between the kisses. Then he stopped and began to unfasten his jeans. "Bed's over there," she said, cocking her head.

"Ever have sex against a wall, Lisa?"

Cuddy said, "Wait, let me think... No. Jules, I'm too..." She trailed off, mesmerized by the sight of him donning a condom.

"It'll be fun." He sounded breathless. He grasped her ass and lifted her; she might've weighed a few ounces for all the effort he expended. "Put it in for me."

She eagerly complied and he thrust into her deeply, as deep as he could. He hit bottom, sending that singular pleasure-pain through her, rocking her head back smartly against the wall. She cried out, "Ah!" He pressed closer and she moaned, suddenly understanding the genesis of the term "nailed." "You okay?" he gasped. "Yeah..." she managed, and that was the end of rational thought.

He held her up easily with strong arms that lifted slender girls for a living. He moved like liquid as he thrust into her, over, over, over again. His cock was so hard, like stone, like something inorganic that glided sleekly, in and out of the slick sheath of her pussy, oh, it was so good, it was so much _better_ than good. And he was silent as he fucked her against the wall, faster, nearing the end and she could feel him waiting, waiting for her and she could smell him, fresh sweat over clean body and she could feel her own sweat, from every pore beneath her dress, her bare ass exposed to the cool air in the room. "Yes!" she cried, and this was going to happen, this was going to be. And "I'm coming..." involuntary words that never made it to her vocal cords before it was....

Cuddy arched and then she screamed, a "neighbors called the cops" yell that gave voice to want and need and endless frustration finally, finally put paid. And Julian brought himself along with her, a little more quietly, murmuring her name over and over, "Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, oh Lisa..."

For a long moment she savored the sensation of that delicious thing inside her, then he lowered her and she put her feet down and they separated. Julian sagged, his forehead against the wall, trapping her between his arms. She felt a sudden need to touch him, took his face in her hands, brought his eyes to hers, kissed his mouth. Her knees buckled and she slid down the wall. Julian caught her, reflex quick and they both laughed. He picked her up, carried her to the bed and dumped her on the bedspread. She rolled out of the way just in time as he crashed onto the mattress. They lay there, rumpled, sweaty, tired and giggling like school kids.

"Oh, my God, I just had sex with my boots on!" Cuddy cried. "That is the epitome of traaaaaash!"

Julian snickered. "Don't look, but my jeans were down around my ankles and my drawers somewhat north of them." He rolled his head to the side to look at her as she rolled up to check the state of his jeans. They were unfastened but up where they were supposed to be. Cuddy looked disappointed. Julian chuckled at her expression. "Don't worry, they're removable," he assured her.

Cuddy looked at her watch-less wrist. "Can you give me an ETA on that, please?" Julian grinned, rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. She lay back down, then raised her knee to unzip her boot. She would only be caught _once_ with her boots on. Julian returned as she got the zipper down to her ankle. He was completely, gloriously naked, and every coherent thought in Cuddy's head fled to parts unknown. He paused with one knee on the mattress when he noticed her wide eyes.

"My God," Cuddy said, "you're beautiful."

"That's my line," Julian said, lying down next to her. He pulled the boot off her foot and tossed it over the side. Then he slowly and carefully finished undressing her, blessing every bit of skin he exposed with a kiss.

They made love again, slow, so very slow, and finished again, together. And they lay silent after, minds devoid of thought, just being, for a long time.

"Who are you, to make me feel so good?" Cuddy wondered languidly.

"I'm the guy..." He kissed her fingertips. "...you said 'yes' to." He kissed her palm.

Cuddy looked dubious. "That's all?"

"That's enough," Julian said. "I love you. I am the luckiest man in the world."

She touched his cheek. "It's too soon for love," she said softly, but Julian shook his head.

"It's too late for me," he whispered, and laid his lips against her ear and sent his warm breath with the words. "I was yours the moment I saw you."

She sighed, tears pricking her eyelids. She shook her head. "You are going to end up _so_ disappointed."

"Not in you, Lisa," he said. "Never in you."

Cuddy wondered, though. The baby she carried, still a secret only she and her doctor knew -- how would blissed-out Julian feel about her having a child that wasn't his? And then there was House. He was a force of nature and part of her life. Julian had had only a tiny taste of just how overwhelming House could be. He had run more than one potential paramour screaming out of her life, and at that instant Cuddy realized that if the man for her wasn't House, it would have to be a man who loved her enough, was _strong_ enough, to stand up to House.

She stared at the ceiling as Julian absently caressed the slight convexity of her lower belly with his fingertips. He seemed particularly drawn to this part of her body, giving it enough extra attention that she noticed, even as she drowned in new-man sensation. It was as if he knew...

"I'm pregnant," she said quietly. Julian's fingers stopped moving. He propped his head on his hand.

"Wow," he said. "And through a condom... I'm better than I thought."

"Very funny," Cuddy muttered. She looked everywhere but at him.

"Wait... You're serious?"

"This isn't something I would joke about, Julian."

"Okay." After a long moment of silence, he drew a breath and asked, "Who's the father and when is he coming for you?" Cuddy heard a note of anguish in his voice.

"No one is coming for me," Cuddy said.

"Okay," Julian said again, not sounding relieved. "Who is the father?"

"Sperm donor," she said, and turned to face him. "I wanted a baby, I wasn't getting any younger, and... a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." She looked into his eyes. "Does it bother you?"

Julian face was perfectly serious as he laid his hand, warm and protective, flat against her belly. He said a single word, so softly, so intensely, and with so much love that Cuddy thought her heart would break.

"Mine."

* * *

There were roses on Cuddy's desk, an arrangement so large it bordered on ostentatious. They were red, deep dusky red, the color of venous blood. House had come into the Clinic to do his hours and they had stopped him in his tracks. He stood outside the glass door staring in, absorbing the redness... overwhelmed, not to put too fine a point on it. He was overwhelmed both by the beauty of the flowers and by what their presence meant.

Cuddy had banged the ballet boy.

The pain was swift and sharp, a guillotine coming down and severing something inside him, some stubborn outgrowth of pride that had its origin in Stacy's leaving. Familiar with pain, House knew when something was different. He'd always discounted mental anguish (unquantifiable, doncha know), always figured that those who claimed to be undergoing it just wanted attention (and needed professional help -- he was happy to shove them in that direction). But it was an entirely different story when _he_ was the one experiencing it.

Suddenly, he was in junior high again and everything he did was wrong. And he didn't know how to fix it. And he needed to fix it. It would stop hurting if he could just fix it...

Cuddy returned to her office from a meeting. She stared up at House, staring into her office.

"Can I help you with something, House?" she said.

He continued to stare at the roses. "Who sent you those?" he said quietly, pointing with his chin.

"None of your business," she replied.

"It was someone you had sex with," House said, wheels turning. "Only someone who's gotten his rocks off would blow so much cash on something that'll be dead in a couple of days.

Cuddy rolled her eyes and wordlessly brushed past him, into her office. House followed.

"Was it that ballerina?" he asked as she went around her desk and started sorting through her phone messages.

"What ballerina?" she said absently, her complete attention on what was in her hands. Her face brightened suddenly as she read one of the messages. She looked off into the distance and smiled.

"Oh, come off it, Cuddy, you know who I'm talking about," House said impatiently, suddenly irritated beyond measure at her smile, the roses, every goddamned thing. There was an absence of tension in her that told him an itch had been scratched, a hunger satisfied to the point of bliss... and it hadn't been by him.

Cuddy's bubble popped. She put her messages down and her hands on her hips. "You tell me what my personal life has to do with you and your job with Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and I will tell you who sent me flowers." She stared up at him, defiant, her eyes the color of thunderclouds. She looked so beautiful that House was caught completely off guard. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"That's what I thought!" Cuddy said. "If you don't need anything of me that pertains to your _job_, please get out of my office so I can do mine." She picked up the messages again, sat down and picked up the phone. House continued to stand there, waiting for his wit. It didn't seem inclined to put in an appearance, so he turned around and limped out of her office.

He went back to his office, to the refuge of his Eames chair where he could think. Reason. Puzzle this out.

_She could've just said yes and saved herself the adrenaline,_ House thought grumpily, somewhat recovered from his encounter with his emotions and, tangentially, Cuddy. And come to think of it, wasn't she always involved when it came to his emotions? He'd know the answer to that if he could just stand up to that churning in his gut that started whenever he thought about her, which had been "often" for longer than he cared to remember.

_You should ask her out on a date,_ James Wilson, the Doctor of Love himself, had told him. As far as House was concerned, three failed marriages and Amber qualified him for nothing more than having the number of a good divorce attorney and bad taste in women. House didn't do dates. And since Wilson apparently didn't know House well enough to know this, House just let him rattle on.

House knew Cuddy well enough to know that while she wanted sex, she didn't want _just_ sex. Cuddy would want more, it was a woman thing, _all_ women wanted more: the dates, the gifts, the attention, the lies, the "no, your fat ass doesn't make your ass look fat..." House was pretty sure he had nothing more than sex to give.

He should stick to prostitutes, everything was straightforward and above-board with them. You could get relief and then kick them out when you were done, there were no expectations but that of payment. He could hit it and forget it.

Except, just lately, it wasn't enough.

When he was able to see through the choking cloud of bad times at the end, he remembered how good it had been with Stacy. Before the infarction and everything going south, House remembered the comfort of a woman in his life, the sweet solace of her body reserved for him alone, someone to share triumph and downfall with, someone who was always on his side. Until she'd told him years later, he'd been unaware of Stacy's loneliness. He himself had never been lonely when Stacy was in his life, but he'd been plenty lonely since; soul-sickeningly so.

And whose fault was that? He couldn't change.

Bullshit.

All that lives, changes. Change or die, it was the nature of life. The adoption falling through had changed Cuddy; perimenopause hit her, pretty much erasing her chances for a baby. That had changed her. Still, she'd taken a chance... with him, and _he_ had failed her.

Now Cuddy was on to this kid, this ballet dancer who looked at her as if she were Aphrodite in the flesh, and he wasn't wrong. House knew Cuddy was a goddess, had known it longer and better than anyone else, especially after That Kiss. He remembered how her mouth had felt beneath his, so soft and giving, even in her misery. Fucking her had been and always would be heaven. That Fiasco (and now he had a new "event" to initial cap), much as he wanted to pretend it hadn't mattered... just the act of penetrating her had blown his mind.

And now Twinkle-Toes knows what it's like.

And there came that hurt again, as if _he_ had done something wrong instead of...

_Come on, be a grownup. She didn't do anything wrong, especially to you._

Then why did he feel as if the ground had been yanked from beneath him? He had nothing left to stand on. Sparring with Cuddy was what got him through, having her on his side...

_Now that she's involved with someone, do you really think she'd stop being on your side?_

He didn't know. The problem was, he didn't want anything to change. He knew that Cuddy attached was a Cuddy that wasn't his.

_And since when was she "yours?"_

"Oh, shut up," House muttered.

* * *

Spring came, bringing longer days, flowers and allergy sufferers (including House), bike riding and kids with broken limbs. The warmer weather was heartily welcomed by House; he could get his own bike out of storage. And Cuddy looked very happy these days. No doubt her trips to Manhattan to see her own private Baryshnikov were responsible for the glow. And it must follow that the happy woman gains weight, because Dr. Cuddy was getting downright fluffy.

"So," Wilson said. "What do you think about the latest Cuddy rumor?"

House sat on the couch in Wilson's office worrying a hangnail. He appeared to be inattentive but Wilson knew better. He finally put his hand to his mouth and bit the damned thing off.

"I started the one about her being a man," he said nasally, looking at Wilson from under his eyebrows. "I happen to know for a fact _that_ ain't true."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Okay, then you haven't heard..."

"That her boyfriend is a fag?"

Wilson frowned. "The civilized term is 'gay.' Which I've never seen in the dictionary under the definition of the word 'dancer.'"

"I'll lend you my dictionary," House said, examining his stripped cuticle. He was in a crappy mood today, and it felt crappier than the usual crap because he didn't quite know where the crap was coming from.

"Don't change the subject," Wilson said. "I hear she's pregnant."

House's hangnail was welling blood. He looked up from his inner debate on whether or not to lick it off in front of Wilson. "Bad rumor," he said, and licked his finger. He noted Wilson's disgusted expression and continued, "She's perimenopausal. The well, as they say, is dry."

"Peri- isn't meno-," Wilson said reasonably. "It's still possible..."

"Not without Frankenstein and his laboratory, and I heard he was booked through Memorial Day." House hitched himself to his feet. He could remember when getting out of a seated position was a more coordinated affair, but the less he thought about _that_ the better his mental health. He lurched to the door.

"Where are you going," Wilson demanded. "We're in the middle of a gossip session."

House paused at the door and looked at Wilson. "You're boring me." He opened the door and walked out, leaving it ajar.

Wilson sighed, wondered for the millionth time why he put up with this shit, and went back to the paperwork House had interrupted.

House entered Cuddy's office without his usual fanfare. She was on the phone.

"Can you hold on for just a minute, something urgent but unimportant just came up." She pressed a button on the phone, hung up, then stared up at him. "What?"

House looked startled. "No hello?"

"You want manners, find some yourself. What do you want, I'm crazy busy," Cuddy said.

"Crazy, anyway," House muttered, and before Cuddy could respond to that, he said, "Is there something to this pregnancy rumor?"

Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "Do you remember what I told you about my personal life?"

"Just answer the question and I'll get out of your hair."

Cuddy hesitated, which was answer enough for House. "When?" he said.

"When what?" she said evasively.

"Did you conceive? Are you due?"

"Why don't you just ask me what you _really_ want to know," she challenged. "You want to know if this baby is yours."

"Well, is it?" House said, and Cuddy got a glimpse of that irrational part of him she'd feared when she first found out he'd knocked her up. She didn't want to lie; House would know she lied and he wouldn't rest until he got at the truth. But she didn't want to deal with the irrationality, either. House was a case of arrested development; she didn't need another child.

"It's not your baby," Cuddy said. It was the truth, as far as that went. Julian would certainly back her up.

"So it's the ballerina's?" House said.

Annoyed, Cuddy said, "He's not..."

"Potayto, potahto, is it Julian's?" Cuddy wasn't surprised House remembered her lover's name.

_Mine..._ Julian had whispered, and she remembered _his_ place in all of this. "It's Julian's," Cuddy said.

House looked away. He stood there for a moment, idly tapping his cane on the floor. "Guess I was right about your perimenopause," he remarked.

"Aren't you right about everything?" Cuddy said, with more acid than she intended. House raised his eyebrows

"Yeah," he said, then bitterly, "Don't you hate that?"

_Do I hate anything about you? Really?_ Cuddy thought, and _Why do I feel like I just shot a puppy?_

House stood there a moment longer, as if he didn't know what to do with himself, then abruptly said, "Congratulations," turned around and limped out.

Cuddy sat there for a moment before she remembered her call, but when she picked up the phone, all she got was a dial tone.

* * *

House steered clear of Cuddy after news of her pregnancy got around. Every employee from department heads to buffers of floors seemed to have an opinion, split evenly between "she's a little old to be having a baby, isn't she?" to "she'll be just the best mom... who's taking over when she's on maternity leave?" That last was something House didn't want to think about.

The weeks went by, during most of which nothing particularly interesting happened. For those who were bored, however, one of those weeks rolled into the PPTH annual fund-raiser. It was a command performance for all the upper echelon employees. House had been looking forward to another poker tournament, but the planners-that-be decided that this year a dance would be just the thing.

There was no way in hell Greg House was going to a goddamned _prom,_ command performance or no... until he found out that Cuddy was going to bring _le danseur._ House saw a not-to-be missed opportunity for a mock and insult fest, especially considering how round Cuddy had gotten, so he paid for his ticket and liberated his tux.

The dance was held at the Ritz, a much nicer venue than usual. House figured they must be courting some pretty big fish. He drove his bike, tux and all, and left his helmet at the coat check. The affair was in full swing when he arrived; lots of strangers were milling about. Cameron and Chase were the first familiar faces he encountered. They were surprised to see him.

"I didn't think you went to dances," Cameron said. She was captivating in a deep rose gown and House looked her up and down for nearly a minute before he replied,

"Boss said I had to."

"And since when do you do what Cuddy says?" Cameron said dubiously.

"She's in a delicate condition," House said. He was looking over her head, already losing interest in the conversation. "I wouldn't want to jeopardize her well-being." He cripped away. Cameron looked at Chase who gave her a 'what did you expect' shrug.

All his fellows were there with dates. House ignored them. He looked around for Wilson, trying to remember if he'd had said he was bringing a date. He didn't see him. He looked around for Cuddy... she would be managing things, but he didn't see her, either.

He wandered into the ballroom and staked out a corner not too far from a punch bowl and a chair. There were a few couples on the dance floor, not as many as would be in a couple of hours. Most folks needed to get a drink (or two or five) on before they felt brave enough to trip the light fantastic.

House leaned against the wall because he couldn't be bothered to drag the chair over. His leg ached, despite the Vicodin with a champagne punch chaser. He popped another pill and watched and was finally rewarded by the sight of Cuddy with her boy-toy.

They were dancing.

House watched them from his corner, glowering at anyone who ventured near him.

The couple smiled at each other as they danced, unaware that the rest of the world existed.

House overheard a remark or two about the "May-December" romance in which the Dean of Medicine was involved. Most of them had been positive, most likely because a Dean of Medicine with a hot, young boyfriend tended to be a lot less her usual harridan self.

_Envy_ was the emotion that gnawed at his intestines but he wouldn't let it show on his face. He simply watched them as they slow-danced, her chin on his shoulder. At one point they separated and HYB looked down between them. Cuddy laughed and rubbed a hand over the good-sized baby bump, and they came together again.

It stood to reason that a professional dancer would also be good on a ballroom floor. And Cuddy was into ballroom dancing, or so he'd heard. They seemed so in tune with each other, something House had noticed when she'd introduced him, as well as the rare times he saw them together at the hospital. They came from completely different worlds, as far as House could tell. They were half a generation apart in age, yet there they were, making like Fred and Ginger on the dance floor, every move they made as if it were planned. House was unable to puzzle out why that should be.

_Are you the one she's been waiting for all her life?_ he wondered, watching Julian smile adoringly at Cuddy. _You weren't even born for half of it... Okay, maybe more like a quarter of it. Where did you meet, anyway? And how do I break the two of you up?_

It was a habitual thought, one that House had any time he saw Cuddy with a man.

_You're the biggest dog in the manger in the history of the world._

No, I'm not. I'd have to _want_ Cuddy to be a dog in the manger.

_I rest my case._

But he _didn't_ want her. He'd decided long ago that she was too much trouble, and now she was _pregnant,_ for the love of Christ! That made her two huge headaches for the price of one. Nope. Wouldn't buy that at a fire sale.

_You love her._

Wrong, voice in my head.

_You wish _you_ were on that dance floor with her instead of HYB._

I would settle for just being able to walk.

_But you can't do _that_ either._

Yeah, thanks for that news bulletin.

The song ended and the couple left the floor. HYB tenderly kissed Cuddy's temple and she smiled. House looked away.

_Why are you even here? You _never_ go to dances._

He was here because, as much as it hurt, he _had_ to witness it. Cuddy with a life. Cuddy with a lover. Cuddy with child. Cuddy with everything she ever wanted. And as much as it hurt, he couldn't deny that she wore it well.

Cuddy spotted him in his corner. Her earrings and hair ornament flashed rainbows in the subdued lighting. She hesitated before putting up her hand in a cautious wave of acknowledgment. He knew she hesitated because she didn't want him to come over and ruin her good time. She didn't have to worry, he wasn't going anywhere near them. That he refused to acknowledge it didn't change the fact that seeing her, seeing her with _him_, made his heart hurt.

He cripped off without returning her wave. He'd had enough. He was going home, where his porn and his scotch, ever faithful, waited up for him.

House stopped off at the men's room. Julian walked in just as he was zipping up. House ignored him and limped to the sink. Julian did his thing and they met up there.

"Doctor... House, right?" Julian said to him.

House shook his head. "No, I'm Doctor Cuddy."

Julian laughed. "I know Doctor Cuddy. You, sir, are no Doctor Cuddy."

"Ah, a wit. Cuddy's cup runneth over..." House looked quizzical. "Actually, Cuddy's cups have _always_ run over."

"She's a beautiful woman," Julian softly, which was absolutely the last thing House expected him to say in response to his jibe. So he said the first thing that popped into his head.

"Yeah, if your taste runs to the bovine..."

Julian's smile vanished. Anger? It was an emotion that didn't sit well on him. "That's a nasty thing to say," he snapped.

"It's what I do," House said, "say nasty things. Didn't Cuddy explain that to you?"

"She doesn't talk about you very much," Julian said. "But I know she thinks about you. She won't admit it, but you matter to her."

House looked surprised. "That's an odd thing for her hot, young boyfriend to say."

"It's the truth," Julian said complacently. He pulled a towel out of the dispenser, dried his hands and tossed it into the wastebasket.

"Right," House said, suddenly so angry he thought the rage would burst out of his skin and fill the room. "You know all about it. You don't know your ass from a hole in the wall!"

"Oh, I don't know," Julian said, turning to face House. "It's pretty obvious to anybody with eyes that you care for her."

"Suppose that were true," House retorted. "You sound like you want her to dump you. What's wrong? It finally dawn on you that a two-fer isn't going to be as much fun as just one aging, desperate woman?"

"Lisa dumping me is the one thing I'm not afraid of," Julian said. "So take your best shot!"

"I've got better things to do," House muttered and roughly brushed past Julian, hard enough to knock him off balance. Julian instinctively reached out to grab the closest thing, which was House. He clutched a handful of House's jacket. House yanked it away from Julian, then took a swing at the younger man. Julian easily dodged the punch and kicked House's cane out from under him, sending House flailing to the bathroom floor, where he cracked his head hard enough to see stars.

"That all you got, asshole?" Julian said. His eyes glittered.

"Yeah, tough guy," House said from the floor. "You would beat up a gimp, wouldn't you?"

"No, House. Just you," Julian replied, his anger already fading. He bent over, hands on his knees, and stared at House. After several seconds of scrutiny, Julian said, "I'll be damned... you do love her!" He offered his hand, which House batted away.

"Right!" House said bitterly. "You could tell that by counting my gray chin hairs..."

"You've known her for years." Julian shook his head. "You could have..."

"Sorry," House broke in, "didn't want her."

"Lie to me," Julian said, "but don't lie to yourself."

"What do you know about it?" House spat. He wanted to get up but he'd be damned if he'd let this... _ballerina_ witness the never-ending struggle between him and gravity.

"I don't know a damn thing," Julian said. He straightened and looked down on House, who stared up defiantly. Julian seemed to be forming a thought. It didn't take him long to bring it out. "Lisa is the love of my life," he said. "I would do anything to make her happy. You can't even make yourself happy, can you?" House looked away, his defiant expression dissolving into something sad and small.

Julian offered a hand up again, but House ignored it. He shook his head and left the bathroom.

House retrieved his cane and slowly pulled himself up by the sink. As he stared into the mirror, a man entered, looked at House curiously, then bellied up to the urinal. House gingerly touched the back of his head where he'd cracked it and felt a goose egg forming that might've been hidden by his hair if he had more of it. Fortunately, his height prevented most people from seeing enough to be curious. How would he explain it? _Oh, I got decked in the bathroom by my boss's boyfriend. Yeah, he's a ballet dancer. _Wilson would die laughing. Wilson would also second Julian's emotion. "Fuck both of you," House muttered to his reflection.

"I'm sorry?" the man, who was now at the sink, said.

"I wasn't talking to you," House said. He straightened his tux and hobbled out of the bathroom.

He would go home, he would get drunk, and he would pass out on the couch. He couldn't change. He didn't want to change.

_You must change._

The urgency of that voice made his eyes sting with stubborn tears.

* * *

Cuddy was tired, hot and her feet hurt. She'd just spent an entire, sweltering day riding herd over PPTH employees and their families at the annual July 4th picnic, and she wanted nothing more than solitude and a nice cool bath. Unfortunately, Julian decided that now was the time to present her with a diamond and ask for her hand in marriage.

He was sitting on her doorstep like a latchkey child when she got home, and for the first time since they'd met she was _not_ happy to see him. Too excited to notice her mood, he got down on one knee and proposed to her right then and there. Cuddy's response was to core him a new asshole right then and there for his miserable timing. Cowed, he asked if she wanted him to leave.

Cuddy sighed and thought Julian must be from another planet, not to be angry at getting bitched out for proposing marriage. She let him stay on condition that he keep out of her way for a while.

She drew a bath and fell asleep in the tub. Julian roused her, dried and 'jama-ed her and put her to bed. He slept on the couch. He had breakfast ready when she got up, and she felt so badly about the way she'd treated him the night before that she started to cry.

"I'm sorry for being such a bitch," she sniffled, drying her tears with the napkin.

"I know how you can make it up to me," Julian said, looking down at his hands, then up at her.

Cuddy smiled weakly and reached out to grasp his hand. "How?" she asked.

Julian took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. "Say yes just one more time," he whispered.

The ring was exquisite. "It's beautiful," Cuddy murmured, as the rainbow facets doubled in the sudden return of her tears. She had no idea he would or could buy her such a gorgeous ring although she had seen his proposal coming mile away. It was so unnecessary. Was he thinking of making an honest woman of her? He hadn't made her a "dishonest" woman. Did she want to be his wife? What would that mean, exactly?

Cuddy wasn't sure, but she did know that _he_ wanted to be her husband, for better or for worse. She knew that Julian would never hurt her. She was certain that he deserved better, and he was certainly better than she deserved. But she said yes because when it came right down to it, she loved him.

Julian laid his head on her belly. She could tell by the slight tremors of his body that he was weeping. Touched, Cuddy kissed the top of his head pressing deeply into the satiny black curls to reach his scalp. "You big baby," she chided. His arms tightened around her and Cuddy wondered what in the hell she was getting into.

* * *

"What's wrong with the train?"

Julian had just called Cuddy at work to inform her that he was going to _fly_ from New York to the local airport.

_Nothing, except it's a rush and I always feel like I'm flying to you, anyway._

Cuddy forked her hair out of her face, frowning. "I don't know... Is this guy really good at flying?"

Julian chuckled. _You sound like a Jewish mother._

"I AM a Jewish mother... almost... Honestly, Julian, I worry about you flying in an itty-bitty plane..." she trailed off.

_Don't, _Julian said. _This is my life now, split between NYCB and the City and you and the baby in Princeton. Please, trust me to work everything out the best way I can._

Her voice softened. "I trust you, Julian..."

_If Dan is willing to fly me here and it's fun, why shouldn't I take advantage of that?_

"All right!" Cuddy laughed. "Okay, I give up! Please, fly to Princeton. I will welcome you with open... arms," she finished roguishly, to Julian's delighted laughter. She loved his laugh, and she sometimes went to lengths to provoke it. "Am I still gonna get my usual Sunday?"

_Not only will you get your Sunday, you're gonna get Monday and Tuesday, too. I'm gonna be teaching that Summer Course class I told you about, except I'll only be there four days a week._

"Wonderful, just enough time for us to get on each other's nerves."

_Completely,_ Julian agreed. They both laughed. Five minutes of endearment-filled good-byes later, Cuddy hung up the phone.

Not a moment too soon, as House came through the doors and hobbled to her desk. He stood there for a moment, scowled, then reached out and grabbed Cuddy's left hand. He studied the diamond for a long moment.

"Well, _that_ didn't come out of a Cracker Jack box," he remarked, abruptly releasing her hand. "Congratulations."

"You don't congratulate the bride, House," Cuddy told him. "You also don't make cracks about the engagement ring."

"That was a compliment," House said. "And a bride your age _should_ be congratulated."

"Was there something you needed, Doctor House?" Cuddy's voice was frosty. She'd been in a good mood until he walked in.

"What I need, you're not about to give me," House said.

"Try me," Cuddy said, before she considered what his response might be.

He told her, finishing up with "...but your fetus might suffer a little discomfort."

"Get out of my office," Cuddy said, disgusted.

"I guess that's a no," House said. He sat down as if, instead of kicking him out, she'd invited him to stay. "Actually, I wanted to ask if you were _really_ gonna marry that kid? Because it seems like such a mean trick to play on someone so young and innocent, hooking them to you for life and all. " House cocked his head. "Then again, he did knock you up..."

"Maybe the prospect of life with me doesn't sound as horrible to him as it apparently does to you," she said.

"Did I _say_ life with you would be horrible?" House said.

"Ah... the part where you barely treat me like a human being might make me think you think that, yes."

"I treat you like a human being," he protested.

"Right!" Cuddy said. "Sometimes I feel like a punching bag, from all the insults."

"That's only because I know you can take it!" he declared. "You have no idea how priceless you are to me--" He broke off, as if he'd suddenly realized he'd said too much.

Cuddy heard what came out of his mouth, saw his stricken look, and decided show him some mercy. "Oh, my," she said wryly. "That's underwhelming..."

"Life's much more fun when someone gives it back, the way you do," House said. "I say two words, most people start crying."

"You could try not being such a bastard," Cuddy suggested.

"Where's the fun in that?" House said. He offered her an evil grin, then hauled himself to his feet and cripped out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

"'Priceless', huh?" Cuddy murmured. She smiled a slow, secret smile.

* * *

_If you knew when you got up this morning that something would happen to change your life forever, would you still get up?_

Julian read that on the Internet, along with the morning news, on the last day of his life. He considered the question, and decided that every day changed his life; if he didn't get up, he'd miss it. He thought about Lisa, as he often did, and smiled, as he always did when he thought about her. He drank his coffee, ate two cherry Pop Tarts and headed out to class.

He mastered the _grand pirouette á la seconde_ that day, and that made him happy. He'd been working on the damned thing for _months_, now. And it seemed like all of a sudden, there it was at his command, almost as good as Mischa.

The masseuse had a cancellation and was able to fit him in for a massage. Julian blissed out under those expert hands as they kneaded tight muscles into submission. "Drink lots of water," the masseuse told him, slapping him on the back when he was done molding. Julian promised he would, and bought a bottle of water from the Coke machine on his way out.

Dan was flying to Princeton today, and Julian was skipping work to hitch a ride. For the hundredth time he thanked his lucky stars that he had an excellent brother who knew people like Dan who owned a Cessna and had a fiancé who went to Princeton University.

Julian wasn't one to kiss and tell, so nobody else knew that his own fiancé could effortlessly send him spiraling into ecstasy. Sometimes just thinking about her... but never mind, save it _for_ her. He was only too happy to do so. Hearing her husky voice crying out in pleasure was one of the high points of his life.

They might have to stop having sex soon. Lisa was getting really _big_, and the baby often kicked him when the two of them were close. Lisa would caress her belly, as big as a globe, and tell the baby to be still. That made Julian giggle, which would set her off, and then the mood would be completely broken, or rather, replaced by laughter. They would cuddle for a while, and then Lisa would... well, it was always lights-out for him after that.

"What are you grinning at?"

"Huh?"

"You're grinning like an idiot," Dan said. He was going through his pre-flight checklist.

"I was just... thinking," Julian said.

Dan chuckled, eyes on his dials. "About Lisa? I swear, I never saw a guy so gone on a woman as you are. She must be pretty damned hot."

"Beyond hot," Julian assured him.

"I'm glad you're happy, dude," Dan said. He got his clearance from LaGuardia tower and taxied his little plane into position. He revved the engine, ran her down the runway and Dan took off with Julian riding shotgun, into a sky that was such a beautiful blue it hurt your heart to look at.

* * *

House's soap was interrupted for a special bulletin about a small plane crash. He cursed, thinking that programs should only be interrupted if more than a million people died; fewer than that had no impact on the gene pool. The bulletin was brief: the small plane was coming in for a landing at Princeton airport when it crashed, the pilot and one passenger were killed... something niggled at the back of House's mind. When the soap resumed, it was to a commercial, so he had a little more time to think about why that association (small plane/Princeton airport) would snag in his neural net. The reason wouldn't come, however. The commercial ended, the soap resumed and House forgot about it until Wilson entered the doctors' lounge ten minutes later.

"House," was all he said, but there was a note in his voice and all of a sudden it clicked and House felt a slick, sudden nausea.

"Shit," he murmured, turned the TV off and got to his feet.

Cissy Baniak took a call for Dr. Cuddy from Princeton Airport. "Doctor Cuddy is out of the office in a meeting and can't be interrupted, may I take a message?"

Dr. Cuddy was listed as next-of-kin for a Julian Scarborough, it was extremely important that they talk to her.

"Oh, my God, has something happened to Julian?"

They didn't answer her question, only insisted on talking to Dr. Cuddy.

Cissy said, "Give me your number and I'll have her get back to you." She hung up the phone and sat there, pink message slip trembling in her hand. Something had happened. Something _bad,_ and just when she thought things were as bad as bad could be, Dr. House showed up with Dr. Wilson trailing him.

"Where's Cuddy?" he snapped.

"I got a message for Doctor Cuddy from the Princeton airport, they said something about Julian and next-of-kin..." She looked up at House, misery in her eyes. "That's bad, isn't it?"

A snarky remark was on the tip of his tongue, but the girl looked as if the slightest breeze would blow her over. "Where's Cuddy?" he repeated patiently.

"Meeting with a donor, big conference room." Cissy swallowed hard, then jumped up. "Excuse me," she said in a strangled voice and ran for the restroom, her hand over her mouth.

Wilson watched her go, shaking his head. "Where does Cuddy find them?" he wondered.

Fortunately, she left the message behind. House scanned it, then called the number. He waited, spoke for a moment, then said the next-of-kin was a mistake, the young man had parents and _they_ were the ones who should be contacted and _they_ could make the identification.

Wilson put his hand over his eyes at that point. House covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "Make yourself useful," he told Wilson. "Look in Cuddy's address book and see if you can find a number for Julian's home or maybe his parents, the name would be 'Scarborough' unless that's Julian's stage name. Somehow he doesn't seem the type."

"House, Cuddy has a Blackberry..."

"Yeah, but Cuddy is anal-retentive. She has everything written down in an address book, I would bet hard cash on it." Wilson went into her office to rifle Cuddy's desk, almost immediately coming upon a black leather address book. He waved it triumphantly and brought it back to House.

"There's a 'Jeff Scarborough' here," said Wilson, pointing.

"That's his brother," House said and Wilson nodded, unsurprised that House would know this. House spoke into the phone, giving the man at the airport the brother's information, then hung up.

"Who's gonna tell her?" Wilson asked, bleakly.

"I will," House said.

Wilson paused, then said, "Are you sure you should be the one?"

"Why shouldn't I?" House said harshly.

"For one thing, you hated the man," Wilson pointed out. "Do you think that Cuddy will see you giving her the news as anything but gloating?"

House thought of the last time he'd gone to Cuddy after a disaster. He recalled every second of the second part, but very little of the first part except that she had mentioned him gloating and he had somehow managed to fuck it up. "Fine." House spit the word out, like a projectile. "You tell her." He wheeled on his cane and headed for the big conference room.

They found Cuddy in the hall outside the conference room, glad-handing some stuffed shirts. She looked elegant and in command, despite being heavily pregnant. She caught sight of House. She frowned and shook her head slightly. One of the shirts recaptured her attention, and her expression immediately switched back to polite regard, a smile of interest replacing her frown.

She pointed the last of her guests toward the exit as Wilson, trailed by House, got within speaking distance. "House, please," she said sotto voce, "don't start anything..." Then she noticed Wilson and frowned. She looked from one man to the other.

"Cuddy..." Wilson began.

"What's going on?" Cuddy said.

"Something's happened," he said, gently.

"What?"

Uncharacteristically, Wilson hesitated. "What?" she said again, her voice rising. She put her hand on her belly, and House felt his heart cramp at the protectiveness of the gesture.

"Let's go into the conference room," Wilson finally said.

Alarmed by Wilson's expression and House's silence, Cuddy said, "No! Tell me what's going on right now!"

"In the conference room," Wilson insisted.

"Will you just tell me what's happened, damn you!" Her voice was loud enough to bounce off the walls. People looked their way, curious.

"Light plane into Princeton airport crashed about an hour ago," House blurted. "Both people on board were killed."

Wilson threw up his hands and Cuddy stared at House as if he'd spoken a foreign language.

"The authorities called here," House continued. "Julian had you down as his next-of-kin."

"No... no..." was all she said, then she looked up at him, her eyes wide... empty. "Are... are they sure it's him?"

"No," House said firmly. "They're not. Which was why they called here looking for his next-of-kin... to identify him."

"His parents..." Cuddy breathed.

"That's what I told them. Wilson found a number for a Jeff Scarborough in your book..."

"That's his big brother," Cuddy whispered.

"They'll take care of it," House said. "Please, get--"

"He's thirty years old, House," she said. Her voice was faint but House could hear the first rumblings of a violent storm within it. He didn't like the way she sounded.

"Honey, don't..." he pleaded; both were oblivious to the endearment.

"Thirty years old," she repeated. "He's getting married... he's going to be a father..." She looked up at House her eyes filled with tears, falling, she was falling, falling into the abyss away from him, away from everyone...

"Cuddy..." Wilson began, trying to salvage... something. She had grabbed on to House's jacket and she stared without seeing, tears rolling heedlessly down her face.

Cuddy began to tremble; her body suddenly jackknifed and House planted his feet to keep her from pulling him down. He laid his hand on her neck -- it was warm, slightly damp. She continued to shake. And then she sobbed, and the sound completely unmanned him. He would've run if he could. "Lisa..." he whispered, desperate to change this, any way he could.

She whipped her head back and stared at him, her eyes the color of thunderclouds. "You don't call me that!" she yelled and pushed him away from her, so hard he fell right on his ass and then she fell on him, hitting and screaming, "You... you wanted this, you _wanted_ this, you killed him you sonofabitch, you BASTARD you killed him!" All the while pounding him with her fists, scratching and gouging and he

Took it.

Because it was true. House had wanted _nothing_ more than he wanted Julian Scarborough dead. Dead with his two perfect legs, dead with his youth, dead with his love for Cuddy, a love that she returned. Dead. Since the two of them had come together, it would have been a prayer if House thought prayer would do any good. He had hated Julian and wanted him to cease to exist and now he had.

And since when did God start listening to Gregory House, anyway?

Cuddy was hysterical. House grabbed her and held her tightly against himself to keep her from hurting him further, or hurting herself or the baby. He could feel the blood run down his cheek from a particularly nasty scratch she'd inflicted. She quickly ran out of steam and curled up around her belly, keening in his arms.

Her screams had drawn an audience. "What's wrong, what happened, who, where, why..." they all babbled at once, sucking all the air out of the area. Wilson knelt next to them. "Get them out of here," House ground out and Wilson did, uttering reassurances. Yes, Dr. Cuddy is fine, no the baby isn't coming now, yes a personal problem, please, give her some privacy, thanks.

When they were gone Wilson knelt beside them again. "Well done, House," he said.

"I told her what happened," House shortly.

"There are better ways to convey bad news..."

"Well, maybe if you'd been able to _find_ your better way, I wouldn't have had to say anything." He abruptly handed the sobbing woman over to Wilson, found his cane and dragged himself to his feet.

He hobbled down the hall without looking back.

* * *

_Blackbirds. Everyone looks like blackbirds._

It was the clothing, of course. Everyone wore black. She herself wore a black Isabella Oliver maternity dress... knocked-up chic. It was hot, and humid here in beautiful Brooklyn. Cuddy felt heavy, and weak. Nothing kept her upright but pride. Her mother kept throwing concerned glances her way, as did Wilson (who was but a chromosome removed from being a mother, anyway). She had no idea why House was there, especially considering the number she'd done on his face when he gave her the news. But every glower he sent her way made her more determined to _get through this_. After her meltdown, she felt an irrational need to acquit herself in his eyes.

The funeral home was elegant and as cold as a tomb. She went instantly from sweltering to goose flesh. She shivered and Julian's mother (Hannah, her name was Hannah, Julian had told her, and they were supposed to have met this very week; no doubt they would've discussed how much they resembled each other) solicitously draped a black shawl, as soft and delicate as a spiderweb, over her shoulders. Cuddy wanted to say thank you, but couldn't remember the words.

She knew that afterwards Hannah would go home, cover the mirrors and sit shiva on the floor, and her Protestant Christian husband would sit on the floor with her. Julian had also told her how his parents, who came from two different worlds, found ways to compromise. Hannah got her kosher kitchen and Jewish children. Robert got to celebrate Christmas and Easter in their home. The kids got to choose how Jewish to be. Cuddy couldn't see that Julian had chosen anything, and as far as she knew, neither had his brother and sister. So his mother would bury him as a Jew.

The rabbi spoke about a young man he knew only through the mother. He seemed to know a lot. Cuddy supposed it was a mother thing, and as if acknowledging her thoughts, the baby kicked. She patted her belly distractedly. Her back hurt, had been hurting for quite a while. She still had a couple weeks of pregnancy left, although Anna had told her last week that baby could make a healthy debut any time, now. _Please, just wait until we get your Daddy in the ground?_ Cuddy thought at her baby. And thank God for Jewish custom that demanded that the dead be interred quickly, no embalming, no autopsy. They weren't even to wash off the blood. Julian's beautiful broken body would be wrapped in a white shroud and buried as it was.

Cuddy squeezed her eyes shut, which sent tears rolling down her face. Her mother pressed a handkerchief into her hand. Jewish mother to the left of me, Jewish mother to the right... The thought amused Cuddy and she suppressed a smile. She didn't understand why they were _hovering_ so. She must've looked horrible. She hadn't been able to look into a mirror since Julian died; she'd felt an urge to shroud them all, a Jew in mourning. Her mother had insisted on lipstick and when Cuddy refused, she took her daughter's chin in her hand and applied it for her, as if she were a disabled.

She wished for rest. It was too soon for Julian to rest, there was so much he wanted to do and be and see, the baby she carried being the most important. He'd been so looking forward to the birth of this child. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She felt she'd let him down; she couldn't explain how. But then, no one asked her to.

No one asked anything of her. She was treated like the grieving widow... correction: grieving _pregnant_ widow, for all that the wedding she and Julian had been planning was months away. Cuddy felt like a fraud. Everyone thought the baby she carried was Julian's, and told her that at least she had the child of his body to comfort her. She wanted to laugh. It was crazy. Julian had known the baby wasn't his. That fact had bothered her more than it had bothered him, and she knew that it would _really_ bother everyone else. But dear God, what did it matter, now?

The ride to the cemetery was nearly unbearable. Cuddy complained about her back and kept shifting her position. She was so pale, her freckles stood out on her face. Her two Jewish mothers suggested she stay in the air-conditioned limo until the graveside service was over. But Cuddy needed to see the box that contained Julian's body go into the ground. She was afraid that if she didn't, she would always expect him to somehow find his way home to her.

She felt something _pop_ deep inside as she struggled to get out of the limo. She gasped and her anxious Jewish mothers asked what was wrong with the same voice. Before she could open her mouth, water gushed down her legs. "Oh, shit!" she wailed in a high, hoarse voice that, fortunately, didn't carry very far. A contraction took her breath away.

"You had to do this _now_?" It was House who had appeared out of nowhere. His voice was low, scathing. "Get back in the limo, you're going to the hospital."

"No," Cuddy said. "I have to finish this."

"Your boy-toy isn't going to care," he pointed out, pushing her legs back into the car.

"I care!" Cuddy said through her teeth, then whimpered in pain.

Her two Jewish mothers and Wilson were standing behind House working up conniptions like the band behind a lead singer. "Go!" House growled at them, but they ignored him. Cuddy swung her legs back out and tried again to get to her feet. "Cuddy, stop!" he protested.

"I've never given birth," Cuddy panted. "There's no way I'm going to drop this baby right here, right now. I have to be here!"

"All right," House sighed.

Wilson protested, "House, we really should--"

"You heard the lady, let's get her graveside. She'll be easier to handle if she gets her way."

Cuddy smiled faintly. "That's right!" she muttered, but thought she'd sound more convincing if her voice were stronger.

They eased her out of the car, each man taking an arm, but Cuddy squirmed out of their grasp and waddled slowly and with great dignity to her chair on the front row. She hoped no one would notice that the back of her dress was wet. Wilson whispered into Mrs. Cuddy's ear. She nodded and moved and Wilson took her place next to Cuddy and held her hand. House stood nearby. Cuddy thought wildly of trampoline spotters and bit her lip to hide another inappropriate smile.

Another contraction curled her around her belly in the middle of the Kaddish. Wilson's fingers tightened around her wrist but she snatched her hand away. He could take her pulse later. She concentrated on breathing; it was breathe or scream, although the latter was quickly moving up the list of options. She reminded herself that she'd wanted this... she'd _really_ wanted this and as a doctor she'd known what she was getting into. But when it came to pain, no one can know. No one can tell you. You have to experience it for yourself.

Cuddy wanted very much to change her mind.

The contraction eased in time for her to throw her handful of dirt on the coffin. Some things transcend what was supposed to be. Such was Julian's love for her. His time had run out before he could make her his, so technically she wasn't even a mourner. Cuddy stared at the dirt on her hands, her view blurred by her tears. The baby kicked again, reminding her that she had work ahead of her. "He was only thirty," she whispered, a sound that didn't travel more than a twelve inches from her mouth. Everyone thought she was saying good-bye or I love you.

"He was only thirty." Lisa Cuddy whispered Julian Andrew Scarborough's epitaph and let him go.


	3. Greg

**Part 3: Greg**

House had discreetly called for emergency transport during the funeral and the ambulance was waiting when the service was over. There was no way in hell he would see Cuddy to any hospital in Brooklyn. She was a primigravida (if elderly, and he was sure that Cuddy had been in love with _that_ term) and correct in her assertion that the baby wasn't going to fall out of her. There was plenty of time, they might as well take her to PPTH where they knew where the hip pads were kept. House was unaware that Cuddy had planned to deliver at Princeton General and the subject never came up. Once the service was over Cuddy became completely docile and, comfortably ensconced in the ambulance, she fell asleep. Contractions woke her up every 15 minutes, but she'd slept badly since the news and was exhausted. Except for the contractions, the trip was uneventful.

_It's the most natural thing in the world..._

Childbirth. If it didn't work, and work beautifully, he wouldn't be here thinking about it.

"House, she's going to be okay."

That was Wilson reassuring him. Now, why would Wilson be reassuring him? Did he look worried, or was Wilson projecting?

Cuddy wouldn't see anybody. There was a lounge full of hand-wringing family, well-wishers and ass-kissers, and she'd pretty much told them all to fuck off. Good for her. They could hold her hand, and drain all her energy with their drama, but they couldn't help her do what she had to do. No one could.

"She shouldn't be alone," Wilson fretted. He stood in the corridor outside Cuddy's suite, hugging himself and watching House's three-legged pace.

"Didn't you just say she was going to be okay?" House reminded him.

"She is, but... There's a reason teenage girls get pregnant... that's the optimal time for a human female to give birth. When the female giving birth is perimenopausal she's asking for trouble."

"If she shouldn't be alone, send in her mom."

"No, she was very clear about not having her mother in the birthing room."

"No way!" House scoffed as he paused his pacing.

"Way," Wilson said.

House smiled faintly. "Doesn't get along with Mommy... that's interesting."

"Go check on her," Wilson ordered.

House looked at him incredulously. "She doesn't want her _mother_ with her while she's in labor. What makes you think she wants me?"

"She doesn't, but what she wants never mattered to you before. Besides, not knowing is driving you crazy, a fact you are quite manfully hiding, by the way..." House. snorted and Wilson continued. "Out of everybody in the immediate universe, you are probably the only person she _won't_ throw out on his ass."

"I don't care..."

"Can it, House. I know _exactly_ how much you care." Wilson had on his I'm-so-over-your-bullshit face. House hated that face. It left him no room to maneuver.

Anna Goss emerged from the suite at that moment and Cuddy's relatives descended upon her en masse, bombarding her with questions. House and Wilson got out of their way.

"Everyone please..." Anna held up both hands and the clamor died down. "The baby is doing well, Lisa is doing well. She at five centimeters, halfway there but it's going to be a while before the baby arrives. Lisa wants you all to go home and relax and she'll get in touch with you after the birth." This statement was met with some grumbling and Anna continued. "There's really nothing any of you can do for her right now," she said, looking at each person in turn. "She wants you all to leave her to her work."

As the relatives milled about, Dr. Goss gave House and Wilson a meaningful look and they followed her into an empty patient room.

"She was supposed to deliver at Princeton General," she scolded as she slid the door shut. "And what were you thinking, dragging her all the way back here from New York!"

"Her water broke at the funeral," Wilson said, and

"Hello, ambulance? Nothing was 'dragging'," House put in, miffed. "We didn't know she was supposed to deliver at PG and she didn't mention it on the way."

"Well, it's a good thing I have privileges here," Anna said, scowling. "I have patients at my own hospital that I need to see to, I can't be running back and forth between hospitals."

"There are obstetricians here, too, Goss," House challenged.

"And if Lisa had wanted one of them to deliver her baby, she wouldn't have come to me," Anna snapped. She stared at House for a long moment; it was a look he was unable to interpret. After a moment, she relented. "I'm sorry, I'm bitching about being inconvenienced because I have an audience. If I wanted order in my life, I should've become a plastic surgeon..." Her beeper went off. She excused herself and hurried away.

"She shouldn't be alone," Wilson said again.

"Who, Goss?" House said absently, trying to figure out why Goss had stared at him as if she knew... something.

"No, Cuddy," Wilson said patiently.

"Cuddy wants her baby's father with her," House said, staring at the floor. "Anyone else is a piss-poor substitute. _That's_ why she told everybody to get lost."

Wilson stared at House. He opened his mouth to say something when his pager went off. He pulled it out and read it. "I have to take this, but... I bet she won't throw you out."

"That's because I'm not going in there," House said.

"Um-hmm," Wilson said. He walked away, distracted, leaving House alone in the middle of the hallway.

Cuddy's fan club had dispersed with the exception of her parents, who had taken up their vigil again in the waiting room. Curiosity got the better of him and he went to the door, paused for a moment, then edged into Cuddy's suite.

She lay in bed, staring out the window, the picture of melancholy. Both she and the baby were wired for sound. The monitors showed him nothing unusual, so he looked again at Cuddy's face. She'd turned her head to watch him.

"You checking up on me?" she said.

"No, I just like the awesome beeping sound all those machines make," House said.

Cuddy smiled faintly. "Looking good?" she asked him.

House looked at the readouts again and nodded. "Looks okay."

"Anna says I'm in for it, with my water breaking so early. I don't mind. If it hurts, I can't think about Julian... Why are you here?"

"Wilson dared me. You gonna throw me out?"

"Do I look like I'm gonna throw you out?"

"Actually you look like the Goodyear blimp."

"Thank you," Cuddy said, with mock graciousness. "I can always count on you to poke me in the eye with a sharp stick."

"I wasn't aiming for your eye," House said.

Cuddy couldn't think of anything to say to that, so they both fell silent. After a while, House pulled up a chair and sat down. Cuddy watched this operation.

"You don't have to stay," she said.

"If I leave, I miss all the fun."

"You want to see me suffer," Cuddy said wryly.

"Especially after all this wanting a baby business," House agreed. "It's downhill from here."

"Too late for me to change my mind," she said.

"I was just gonna say that..." House trailed off as he noticed Cuddy tensing. The graph line for contractions began to rise, the higher it went the more Cuddy tensed. "Try to relax," he said.

"Shut up!" Cuddy snapped, then groaned. House got to his feet and limped to the bed. When he was close enough, Cuddy grabbed his hand and held it tightly, staring at nothing as she rode out the contraction. House watched her.

The contraction ended. She relaxed against her pillow and loosened her grip on his hand, but he didn't let go immediately and she looked a question up at him.

House said, "You gonna do that every time you have a contraction?"

"Only if you're within reach," Cuddy replied. She looked away. "It helped."

That seemed to satisfy him. He dragged the chair closer to the bed. She watched him settle himself in it.

"How long are you going to stay?" she asked.

"'til I get bored," House said.

Cuddy snorted. "I'm not going to have a contraction before that happens."

The corners of House's mouth quirked. "How far apart are they?"

"About eight minutes, now."

"That sounds about right."

House stayed, holding her hand through most of the contractions. As nurses came and went and adjusted monitors leads, checked IVs, charted vitals, he stayed. As Cuddy napped through the more and more infrequent lulls between contractions. As the contractions got harder, grew closer and she went into transition and her mood swung violently, he stayed.

He was there when Dr. Goss returned to deliver the baby and it was time for Cuddy to push. Anna looked at him, surprised, but said nothing.

Cuddy went about pushing her baby into the world with the dedication and determination she brought to anything she did. House told her, "Head's out." Anna told her, "One more push, Lisa." Cuddy put her all into it, roaring as she strained and suddenly there was baby, first in Anna's hands, then on Cuddy's sheet-covered belly. Cuddy lay back and closed her eyes, panting. House, speechless for once in his life, stared at the infant.

It was a squirming, gummy-looking, blood smeared thing with a large head, two arms and two legs with a cleft between them. A girl. She had sparse dark hair on her head, and bright knowing eyes that glared at him in accusation. He was the first thing she saw, he MUST be the one responsible for the cold and the brightness and her misery. Her crying was high-pitched, staccato. That melody had to be selected for the survival of the species. No human being could possibly listen to that and not want to do something, _anything_, to make it stop. It was driving _him_ crazy; what must it be doing to Cuddy?

The baby girl was taken away, briefly, to be examined and suctioned and cleaned up. Cuddy stared avidly in the direction her baby had gone; House watched her, awash in emotions he'd never felt and had no name for. A nurse returned with the squalling, blanket-wrapped bundle and handed her to her mother. Cuddy accepted her daughter, her expression very different from the one she'd had when Joy was born. She looked exhausted and sad, yet proud of her accomplishment as she stared at her child. She looked like she was falling in love.

"Congratulations, Mommy," House said softly.

Cuddy pressed her nose against the baby's head, breathed in the scent. The little one's cries were tapering off to soft coos, as if she knew she was now where she was supposed to be. "Thank you, House," Cuddy said, never taking her eyes off the tiny hand that clasped her offered finger. "I couldn't have done it without you."

It would be months before House learned of all the ways Cuddy meant that.

* * *

_All that lives, changes._

House was miserable.

Snappish, irritable, aching. He took extra Vicodin. It didn't help. He drank. It didn't help. He'd lost his taste for pros, and there were no patients to diagnose. That _really_ didn't help. And everyone _but_ House seemed to realize that the reason he was so miserable was because of Cuddy's absence.

When Cuddy was planning her maternity leave, she'd made noises like she would be back shortly after the birth. After all, the hospital couldn't possibly get along without her, right? But that was before her fiancé died and her daughter was born, both within the span of a couple of days. Two huge life events, plus the physical toll they'd taken on her had reduced Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital to a tiny blip on Cuddy's radar. She barely even thought of the place, let alone returning to it.

She named her baby Graham Elisheva Cuddy, for Julian's favorite dancer, Martha Graham. It was a kind of tribute, both to the man who had made the past eight months of her life so happy and to his profession. She put his engagement ring away, to be given to Graham when she was older. Cuddy would tell her daughter about the man who would've been her father, and Graham would get to know him through her and through Julian's parents, who insisted on staying in touch and wouldn't take no for an answer, such was their love for their departed son.

She brought the baby home the day after her birth and her world became centered on her recovery and the care, feeding and love of this tiny human being.

House was deeply affected by the totality of Cuddy's desertion. Although he wouldn't admit it, he felt abandoned, hence the bad mood.

He wanted to see her. He wasn't interested in the baby, unlike the rest of her lackeys, so he had no reason to go to her house. She'd left the hospital in hands so capable, not even House fazed them, try though he might. Torturing Cuddy's replacement, effective or not, was just another expression of his wretchedness.

"Go see her," Wilson urged. House had taken to barging into Wilson's office and just sitting there, ruminating. Wilson found it a welcome change from the random gossip fests House used to subject him to. At least now he could get some work done.

"I have no reason to go see her," House said, his chin on the handle of his cane, his eyes on infinity.

"Because you want to is a reason," Wilson said. "It's always worked for you before."

"That was Before Baby," House said. "Everything's changed, now."

"Not everything," Wilson said mildly. House looked over to find Wilson staring at him. His face was kind.

"Go see her," he said. "Tell her you're in love with her." House stared back at his friend for a long moment, then looked away.

"It wouldn't matter," House muttered. Wilson was heartened by the fact that at least House wasn't denying it any more.

"How do you know unless you talk to her?"

"She's in love with her boy-toy..."

"Julian is dead. You can't stay in love with a dead person. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."

"Then she's in love with her baby. That kid fills up her whole world."

"Her world is pretty full," Wilson admitted, "but I'm sure there's room in it for you."

"What if there isn't?" House said mulishly.

"Then you _make_ room. If she cares for you, she'll let you. And I happen to know for a fact that she cares for you. Why else would she have put up with your crap all these years?"

House considered this for a long moment. "Seriously?" he said. He wouldn't look at Wilson.

"Yes," said Wilson.

"I'm scared," House said softly.

"Everybody's scared," Wilson said, with all the authority with which House would say 'Everybody lies.' It made House focus on his friend again.

"Not Cuddy..."

_"Especially_ Cuddy," Wilson told him.

House mulled that over for a moment. Suddenly his expression changed. He got to his feet and limped out of Wilson's office.

"You're welcome," Wilson called after him. It wasn't until he got up to close the door that he noticed House had left something behind.

* * *

House went straight from Wilson's couch to Cuddy's doorstep.

If he could have run, he would have. As it was he showed up there, on a motorcycle he should not have been driving that time of the year, sans jacket and helmet and cane. The weather was warm for November, but he probably wouldn't have noticed even if it had been snowing.

When he got there he was struck by fear. He looked into the window, but saw no one and had to consider the possibility that Cuddy and Cuddy Jr. might not be at home. _Phone first..._ House summoned all the courage he had and knocked.

In the time it took to draw a breath, Cuddy opened the door. He hadn't seen her in three months, since the funeral and the birth of her baby. The Cuddy who stood before him looked more like _his_ Cuddy, despite the fact that she wasn't dressed in her usual "business sexual." She wore jeans and a baggy t-shirt, her hair was in a ponytail and she was barefoot. Cuddy gazed at him, her happiness to see him was in her expression which was just short of a smile. She did not look surprised to see him. Did Wilson call? But he hadn't said where he was going.

Cuddy wordlessly took his hand and pulled him across the threshold. She closed the door with her other hand. Now her back was against the door. He couldn't escape. He didn't want to.

_You must change._

Cuddy continued to hold his hand. He was reminded of her baby's birth. She pressed her other hand against his chest, registered the pounding of his heart. Then she put her hand to his bristly cheek and he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

"You realize what's going to happen, now," Cuddy said. It was the first time she'd spoken although it seemed to him she'd been talking all along.

"I want this," House said softly, leaning more into her hand, turning his head as she caressed his mouth with her thumb.

"You can't change your mind," Cuddy said, and he shook his head no. It wasn't an option he wanted to entertain. He stood silently, thinking. She waited and he finally confessed, eyes averted,

"I'm scared."

"I know how to make us not scared anymore." She leaned away from him, tugging his hand and he followed her to her bedroom.

Once there, she closed the door and took him into her arms.

There was a comforting familiarity to their kiss. He pulled her tightly against him as she stood on tiptoe, reaching, reaching into the place he'd opened for her, that place she'd wanted to occupy for so very long. She pulled him to her bed and they lay down, facing each other, staring into the other's eyes and wondering at how it had finally come around to this.

"You said 'us'," House murmured.

"You don't think I'm scared, too?" Cuddy asked. "I mean, it's you. I've got a lot to lose."

"Yes, you do," he agreed. "So what's this magic formula?"

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. He smiled. "I can do that. Whenever you're ready."

"No hurry, but we are on baby time."

"Ah, yes, baby time. She must be asleep, I don't hear any wails of abandonment."

"Or I might have stuffed her in the clothes dryer," Cuddy returned.

"Oh, my God," House said. "I've rubbed off on you."

"Tell you what..." Cuddy sat up and pushed House onto his back. "We should get some rubbing done before my baby wakes up and I have to give her all my attention. I know how much you hate sharing me."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" House said. "Take your shirt off."

"You first," Cuddy said. They both complied. House eyed the white nursing bra.

"Sexy," he said. The two syllables that dripped with irony.

"No," Cuddy said, "this is what 'sexy' comes to."

"Take it off," House ordered.

"Sorry, plumbing issues. I unholster these and we drown in breast milk."

"I can think of worse ways to go," he said, tracing the place where bra met skin. "They're a lot bigger than I remember."

"That's because they're doing what they were made to do."

"Will they do anything for me?" House asked, surreptitiously unhooking the bra's access panel and exposing her breast. His breathing quickened. Cuddy scooted closer and he gently accepted her offer.

She looked down on him as he suckled her. He was hers as surely as the little girl who slept in the yellow room was, and no matter how wounded, how flawed he was, she wanted him. She caressed his face, his hair, cupped his skull and held him to her. She felt the warning tingle of the letdown reflex and wondered how he'd react to what he'd started.

Warm, sweet liquid flowed over his tongue. He swallowed it, raised his eyes to her and she smiled. Then he made the mistake of letting go. Milk sprayed into his face. He gasped and the look on his face sent Cuddy into a fit of laughter.

He wiped the milk off with his shirt and watched her tuck her breast away and press the heel of her hand against it to stop the milk flow... and laugh. "You done yet?" he asked, as her guffaws decreased... which just set her off again.

"I'm sorry," she said as she finally calmed down. She wiped her tears away with both hands. "Graham gets it in the kisser all the time and she has the same expression you did." Cuddy giggled. "It never gets old."

"You are so easily amused," House grumbled.

"Ya think?" Cuddy said, and laughed some more.

"I can see that your breasts are off-limits as far as foreplay... You could have told me."

"You have to learn the hard way, House," Cuddy said. "I know this about you."

"Okay," he conceded. He looked into her eyes. "You have lots of other suckable body parts..."

Cuddy hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pants. "Which part do you want to start with?"

"Take 'em off," he pointed with his chin and she nimbly complied. House gazed at the treasure laid out before him. "I should've brought my angina pills..." he muttered as he fell on her.

"You don't have angina," Cuddy said, then gasped as his tongue touched one of the aforementioned parts.

He positioned her body until his head was between her legs. "I will by the time we're through."

He kissed and nibbled at the inside of her thighs. The creases where her legs met her torso were sensitive valleys, and, if the attention he gave them was any indication, tasty ones. He didn't spend a lot of time there, just enough so that when his tongue met her clit she was already halfway to heaven.

He buried his nose in her soft bush, breathing in the scent of her as his tongue traced the outline of her swollen button. She moaned, "Yesssss..." and he took it between his lips and sucked. She cried out and the sound was music to him as he sucked, a much more delicate operation than the breast play had been. He went lower, slid his tongue inside her while he pressed his palm against her pubic bone. She rocked her hips and he could feel her tiny erection there in the middle of his palm, pressing and receding with her movement. He raised his head and watched her face as she fucked against his hand, her eyes closed, her mouth an O of pleasure. "Want you," she whispered.

"Where?" he asked, completely enthralled by the picture she made.

"Inside me," she breathed. He positioned himself above her and unfastened his jeans, she carefully eased them past his bulging erection and pushed them down his legs with her feet. She drew her legs up and he guided his cock with his hips, probing... probing until he found the slippery sweet spot and her legs curved around his waist and he pushed into her, stopping halfway.

"There?" he said, and he could've been giving a lecture for all the inflection of his voice indicated what he was _really_ doing.

"Right there," she said. _She_ sounded like she was having sex, and she got considerably more inarticulate as he stroked her in short, easy thrusts. She looked down at what was happening between her legs and saw his rigid cock pumping inside her, his shaft dusky and swollen. "Oh, my God," she whispered and she let her eyes feast on the sight.

Again he watched her watching him. "You like that?" he asked, his voice the faintest of whispers. "Yes," she said, and then he said, "Do you want it all?" and her response was to arch her body against him. He took that as a yes and thrust into her, slowly giving her more and more of his cock until he filled her.

The two of them moved together, joined where a man and a woman were supposed to join. They had a conversation, which was neither articulated nor remembered. Here was now, and there was only the sensations and their need for each other, finally being filled.

"Do you want me to pull out?" he asked breathlessly, hoping the answer was no. Inside her bare was exquisite; he didn't want to stop, didn't want her any other way. It had never mattered to him with anyone else, that the sensation might be better without the condom. What had mattered was that he was protected. He didn't want to be protected from Cuddy; he wanted nothing between them. He wanted to immerse himself in this woman (his woman) and vanish into her depths.

"Come inside me, House," she murmured as her hips worked in time with his thrusts, as his thrusts got faster, deeper and she spread her legs, wider, opening herself, opening to him, giving him herself even as she received him, his body, his heart, his soul.

"Yes," he said and the world exploded and he gave her everything to the melody of their cries of release, her own affirmation. "Yes."

Over was finished and down was precipitous, yet there they were, after, still intact and House realized that Cuddy was right.

He wasn't scared anymore.

Graham woke, yowling and ravenous and Cuddy nursed her. House watched this operation avariciously and gave up fighting his arousal early on. If Cuddy noticed, she didn't comment. She was centered on her daughter, and the few times she lifted her eyes from that small face, she seemed to be gazing into infinity, her expression that of bliss mixed with wisdom, a goddess face.

The baby fell asleep at her mother's breast, drooling milk through fitful smiles. Cuddy finally noticed House watching slack-jawed, and she rolled her eyes. "Pig," she said, as she passed him on the way to the nursery.

"Oink," House said. And when she returned from putting the baby down and asked about dinner, he led her back into the bedroom.

Deep in the night hunger finally drove them to the kitchen. They ate what they found in companionable silence, then returned to bed.

It was a personal best for both of them.

* * *

The sun shining in his eyes woke him. He momentarily felt disoriented and a little anxious, as if he'd committed some barely remembered crime and wasn't sure the authorities weren't coming to get him. He heard a buzzing sound and turned away from the window to find Cuddy curled up beside him, snoring. Pain sliced through his leg in intricate patterns like a jigsaw, it was no worse (or better) than usual, but for the first time since his injury the pain seemed unimportant; not worth the attention he gave it. House leaned over and nuzzled through the curtain of dark hair, found an ear and abraded it with his stubble. Cuddy abruptly stopped snoring, grunted and swatted at him, then rolled away.

He got up, took his pills, made coffee. He heard the baby babbling and idly wondered, sitting at the table, when Cuddy was going to get up and see to her. He remembered how deeply mama was sleeping, pondered it for a while, then decided to take his life into his hands and go into the baby's room.

Graham Elisheva Cuddy lay in her crib in the yellow room, talking quietly (and incomprehensibly) to herself. House stopped in the doorway. The baby saw him and her babbling stopped. He lurched into the room and the baby followed him with bright eyes. He leaned over the crib and she looked up at him and House saw familiar eyes in her face. She looked like the subject of those faded, sepia-toned pictures his mother kept in a very old album -- photos of a baby she'd said was her. She had no reason to lie, but House had never believed his mother had ever been that young, that helpless until now, when he looked into the eyes of his daughter and those eyes looked back, into him. He put his hands on the rail and she gazed at him, solemnly. _"Pick me up,"_ her eyes seemed to say. _"I trust you."_ House wordlessly did as he was bidden, and as he lifted his child into his arms, he realized that this was only the first of a million times he would do her bidding before they were through.

Graham snuggled against him confidingly, then started to babble again. It sounded to House like a welcome, one that, after last night, he was much more disposed to hear.

"She's usually wary of strangers," Cuddy said from the doorway. House looked over at her, then back at the baby.

"I'm not a stranger," he said, and carefully rested his hand against the baby's back. Cuddy came in and laid her hand against his back. She smiled at her Graham, who seemed to like it very much where she was. Her eyes drifted shut.

"Why didn't you tell me?" House said. He wouldn't look at Cuddy.

"You weren't ready," Cuddy replied.

"And I'm ready now?"

"No," said Cuddy. "Now, you have no choice."

House cautiously shifted the baby to his other shoulder and faced Cuddy.

"There is nothing in it for you, being with me."

Cuddy smiled sadly. "_You_ are what's in it for me. Aside from the fact that you gave me Graham... I consider you a good thing."

House shifted the baby to balance on his shoulder, then laid his wrist against Cuddy's forehead, as if checking for fever. _See?_ her look said. _Not sick. Not even crazy._

"I'll disappoint you," House said, letting his fingers trail down her cheek. "I'll hurt you."

"So what else is new?" Cuddy said, wryly.

"Maybe _I_ should run," he mused, then frowned and craned his neck toward the baby. "I think this one pooped."

"Poop isn't terminal," she told him. "But if you want to run, go ahead."

House looked wary. "Seriously?"

"Could I stop you?"

"No..." House thought a long time, as Cuddy took the baby from him and to the changing table. This woke Graham up and she started to fuss and babble. Cuddy responded in English, as if she understood everything the baby was saying and the baby understood her. He watched and listened to this exchange, then said, "I'm not worth it."

"You're right," Cuddy said, wiping and powdering. "You're not." She finished the diapering, picked Graham up and faced him again. "What you are is what I want. I should get what I want."

House shook his head. "You can't always get what you want."

"Really?" Cuddy frowned, as if over a puzzle. "Well, I've been trying really hard to get what I need. Unfortunately, you fall into both categories."

"Unfortunately for who?" House's expression had cleared, as did one who had finally gotten the joke.

"Let's flip for it."

* * *

**Epilogue**

House had been to Cuddy's home many times. Due to his inquisitive nature (and the fact that it was Cuddy's house), he knew more about it and everything in it than he had any business knowing, possibly more than Cuddy herself did. So when he wandered into the living room that morning, he immediately noticed the new items on the mantelpiece and he went over to investigate.

There were a couple of new knick-knacks, ballet related, no doubt gifts from Julian. There was a photo of newborn Graham... and there was a photo of Julian, a professional head shot in a black lacquer frame. House took the photo down and stared into the subject's eyes. This man had loved Cuddy. He was a handsome man, a good man, but he was gone and now House was here. Would he be if Julian had decided to take the train into Princeton that day? House wondered. Perhaps he should be grateful to Julian for dying when he did. Not that the poor guy had had any choice.

He felt, rather than heard, Cuddy come up behind him. She laid her warm hand on his back as she peeked around him, to see what he was inspecting. House watched Cuddy as she stared at Julian's picture for a long time, her brow puckered, her eyes sad.

"You really loved him, didn't you?" House said quietly.

Cuddy took the picture from him and replaced it on the mantel. She looked up at House and there was nothing but honesty in her blue-gray eyes. "Not like I love you," she said.


End file.
